


A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Magikenz



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 50,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magikenz/pseuds/Magikenz
Summary: Feyre has been in the Spring Court for three months. Tamlin, spurred by Ianthe's urgency, pushes for a quick marriage. Lucien grows more suspicious by the day, but Feyre hopes that she can persuade him to join her side. Ianthe herself has turned up the heat with parties, events, and more "lady" duties. And all the while Feyre wishes she could be back with the Court of Dreams.All of these characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Comments and kudos are appreciated.This is my first long A Court of Thorns and Roses fic! Please enjoy <3





	1. Chapter 1

The forest is alive with the sounds of spring. Of course it always is here, in the _Spring_ Court.

Golden sunlight shines through the leaves above my head as my horse gently clops down the earthen lane. Lucien rides beside me, sitting ramrod straight in the saddle and scanning the trees ahead. It was the only condition given to him by Tamlin before we could even go out for a ride: Keep Feyre Safe. I glance behind us at the two rows of guards in full armor riding twenty feet behind us and stop myself from rolling my eyes. 

Ever since I returned, I've been protected and coddled like a prisoner. Every where I go there are guards within sight and earshot. When I sleep they stand outside my door. When I eat, they flank the doors and windows. When I bathe, they keep a respectful distance. It seems that Tamlin has warned them that Rhys could pop in at any second and seize me. I imagine the carnage of soldiers if my mate did dare.

It was my choice to come. To be a spy for him and our Court. I look at Lucien again and groan inwardly. The last three months of being watched like an tolerated pest has been hard enough without Lucien's added scrutiny. The fox seems to think that I am a wolf in the hen house...which I suppose I am. He doesn't need to know that though. I wish that I could reach out and stroke his shields, just to see if I've made any progress. Except for this, I haven't been able to use any of my powers. I've been too nervous to practice water shapes while in the bath, and you can forget lighting a fire with my fingertips. I need more time. 

I bite the inside of my mouth. Tamlin is leaving for the front again in two days, and I need to be there with him. But his mental shields are too strong for an untrained Fae like me to break through. I've managed to breech it once, but that was in bed when every shield he has was totally down. 

"You're quiet today, Feyre," Lucien says now. 

I sigh through my nose. "It must be the humidity." 

He nods. "It is a hot one. How did you sleep last night?" 

"Well," I say. I slept terribly. My nightmares woke me up four different times. "And you?" 

"Awful," he admits. "I was up all night thinking about Hybern and our men at the front." 

 _Is he baiting me?_ I blink. "I wouldn't know." 

"No, you wouldn't," he says. He's staring at me knowingly, "Feyre, you know that everything we do is to keep you safe." 

"I am more than capable enough to keep myself out of trouble," I snap. 

"I'd hardly call your performance Under the Mountain staying out of trouble," he states blandly. "Or what about the past year you spent in the Night Court? Was that your definition of out of trouble?" 

I'm not supposed to remember my time in the Night Court. Supposedly, I was under the influence of Rhy's power through the bond we made and only when I saw Tamlin did I claw my way out. "That's not fair," I say. "I didn't know what I was doing!" 

Lucien shakes his head. "Stick to your story, Feyre, if you want. But I was there in the Night Court, remember? I saw you. And I know you. You wouldn't let yourself be taken for a fool like that." 

"You barely know anything about me," I protest. "Under the Mountain I was dying and you weren't coming and he promised to help me. And he did. How was I to know what he would do after fixing my arm? Better yet, why should I have cared? I was sure that every day in that cell would be my last." 

He winces and sighs. "I am sorry for that." 

I pretend to pout as we ride in silence. A sweet breeze whispers through the trees overhead, shaking their boughs. It smells of roses and sunshine and fresh cut grass. "I'm just glad to be home, Lucien, but I can't handle your paranoia. You are my friend," I say wearily. "Why can't you trust me?" 

I could use Rhys's--my--powers. Soothe that nagging in his mind and force him to trust me again. But for some reason, I can't bring myself to do it. No, I want him to trust me on his own without any interference. 

Finally, he lets his shoulders sag. "I'm sorry. It's been a hard year." 

"I know." _Believe me_ , I think. _I know._

An hour later, just before we reach the village, Lucien makes us start back to the estate. It's getting dark as we bring our horses to the stables; the sky looks like lavender with cotton wool floating through it. The sun is just setting behind the green hills as Lucien and I step into the dinning room. 

Ianthe is waiting for us. Behind her is a mountain of food in shining golden platters, still hot and steaming. She looks up quickly when we enter, and beams at me. 

"My lady," she says. Her robes look periwinkle in the light of the candles around the room. "Did you have a nice ride?" 

I return her smile. "I did! It was a beautiful day, Ianthe, you should have come with us." I move around her and sit at my place, the chair on the left of Tamlin's seat. Lucien takes his place across from me. Ianthe remains standing. 

"I would have, but I had pressing matters to attend to. Actually, that was why I was in here. Lucien I need to speak with you." She looks at Lucien with what I guess is supposed to be a sexy expression. 

Lucien looks pained at the idea. "We should wait until Tamlin has settled the business." 

A flicker of disappointment and annoyance passes over Ianthe's gorgeous features, but they are gone in an instant. Instead, she goes to her seat at the end of the table, directly across from Tamlin's empty gilded chair. Her circlet, ring, and belt flash in the light as she moves. 

I fill my plate with food while Ianthe launches into a stream of mindless chatter. It's just us tonight, it seems. All of the other Fae that Tam likes to entertain have apparently taken the evening off in his absence. I bite into a buttery roll and chew thoughtfully. He didn't mention leaving again last night, and my guards weren't doubled so that means he is still on the estate somewhere. Probably in the study drawing up more battle maps. That's where he stayed in the first few weeks I was back. I've come to think of that study as his control center for the whole Court and his army. If I could just send Rhys flashes of that study...

I slice into my meat with dainty silver civil ware and frown at the precious metal. It seems hard to believe that we're living so extravagantly in a time of war. I think about the poverty in the village when I visited a year ago, and again feel the urge to help. But Lucien was right. I'm Feyre Cursebreaker, remade Under the Mountain. I'll only serve as a reminder of their devastation. 

"What do you think, Feyre," asks Ianthe, breaking me from my thoughts.

I blink and blush. "Sorry. I didn't hear what you were saying."

She smiles indulgently, "I was asking if you would like gold or rose gold jewelry for your next ball." 

"Rose gold," I answer.

She nods approvingly. "Very trendy. I'll put that in tomorrow's order." 

That's another thing that has changed slightly. My wardrobe has become more expensive. Every Wednesday there is a new order written out and delivered to whoever for new dresses, new jewels, new shoes, and new hair accessories. It's a bit much, but it keeps Tamlin happy and Ianthe busy. I glance down at the pile of silk and lace that I'm currently wearing and mask a frown. I run a hand over the fabric, again thinking of the village. 

Movement in the hall catches my eye, a green tunic and the flash of a sword hilt. Tamlin. I excuse myself from dinner and follow him upstairs. 

"There you are," I say. He's halfway up the grand marble staircase in the foyer. 

"Here I am," he says, turning to face me. He looks tired despite his cheerful smile. He opens his arms for me and I meet him halfway, putting my head against his heart. My hairpins dig into my scalp. 

"I've missed you today," I whisper. "The forest was beautiful. I think there'll be some good hunting soon." 

He kisses the top of my head as I speak. "I wish I could have gone with you. It would've been better than staying inside all day." 

I gaze up at him, "Why don't you come tomorrow? I can show you this new rabbit trap I saw somewhere...maybe paint you by the river?" I wriggle my eyebrows playfully.

His expression falls. "I can't Feyre. I'm getting ready to move new troops to the front." 

"The front," I echo. "You're always talking about the front, Tam, but you never talk about the war." I move back from him and cross my arms. "I thought we agreed to be more open with each other." 

"I can't be too open," he says apologetically. "It puts too much risk on this court. On you." 

I chew the inside of my mouth. I need him to tell me more. "Tamlin, I want to help! At least tell me if there are any real battles going on." 

"Of course there are real battles!" He smiles fleetingly, half amused at my stupidity. "I just can't tell you too much." 

I take his hand and tug him towards the dinning room. "At least come eat with us, then." 

"I can't. I need sleep." 

"Why?" 

Tamlin frowns at me now. He hates questions. Apprehension makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. His temper has only risen once since I've been back in the Spring Court. It was after a raid on our hunting party in the woods by rebels from the outer areas of the Spring Court. My horse threw me off and I hit my head on the ground. I never saw that horse again, but that night I heard distant roaring followed by a sharp primal scream. Just the idea of that scream sends tremors down my spine, and I shudder visibly. 

He softens. "I need to be well rested to take more troops to the front and train them. I'm sorry, Feyre, I can't tell you everything right now. It'll just have to wait." He bends and kisses my cheek quickly before mounting the rest of the stairs. I don't have time to ask if I can go too. 

I groan in frustration and start up the stairs as well, slowly so that my many guards can keep up. With them posted at my bedroom and outside the bathing room, I draw my own bath. Alis stands in the corner with her arms crossed over her bosom, Tamlin's last effort to keep Rhys away. 

"Tired tonight," she asks carefully. 

"Very." I sink into the silky water, enjoying the warmth that creeps up my limbs. "How was your day?" 

"Oh, busy. Ianthe ordered new drapes for the upstairs drawing room." 

"Did she?" I lather up my hair with rose scented soap. 

"In your name, I might add." 

I roll my eyes. Alis knows that I dislike Ianthe's constant extravagance, but Tamlin insists that she stays. "How can we keep funding ourselves if our lands are so poor?" 

"It's a mystery to me." The older woman throws up her hands and starts refolding the plush towels in the cabinet. 

I rinse my hair and begin using a fresh bar of lavender soap. It's supposed to help me sleep.

Alis watches me closely. "You're different, Feyre," she says, choosing her words like a swordsman chooses his weapons. 

I look up from what I'm doing. First Lucien in the forest and now Alis. I knit my brows together. "What do you mean?"

She purses her lips. "When you first came back from Under the Mountain, I thought you were going to die. You were so small and scared of everything..." Her eyes harden. "But here you are after a year of being under the most powerful, ruthless High Lord in history's control, and you're perfectly fine. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were getting positively fat compared to the shell you were after Amarantha." 

I chew the inside of my mouth. A sore is beginning to form from where I've bothered it all afternoon. "I guess I _am_ different," I say, equally as cautious. "I hadn't noticed a change..." I pretend to contemplate what this means, trying to get Alis to relent. 

She crosses the tile and comes to stand next to the tub while gazing at me with a look as sharp a dagger. Gently, she leans down next to my ear. "If you're playing some game, Feyre, I swear to you, you will not win. Not this time." 

I startle back against the metal side. "What do you mean," I repeat. 

Her eyes flash dangerously as she jabs a finger at me. "Be. Careful." 

I could call for my guards. I could accuse her of trying to drown me, of committing treason against Tamlin, and then she would be hanged. She has her boys to look out for, though, so I know that I cannot condemn her to death unless she is a direct threat to my mission. And so far she isn't. 

"Maybe it is you," I say, voice shaking, "who should be careful." 

She narrows her eyes, but looks away. I go back to washing my body and then I dry off with one of the neatly folded towels. I leave it in a sopping wad on the floor when I'm finished. 

When I slip between the sheets that night I know that I'll have nightmares as soon as I fall asleep.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tamlin refuses Feyre's plea to go to battle with him, she takes matters into her own hands and begins making a few changes around the estate. In the library she discovers a mysterious reading loft...

I grip the bridle of Tamlin's horse tightly with both hands. "Take me with you!" I hate the whine in my voice, but I need him to listen. 

All morning I've been pestering him like this, pleading like a spoiled child. I need to be at the front with him tomorrow so I can report our numbers. Standing here on this dry spring morning, though, I realize that I'm not going anywhere. 

He gazes down at me with a deep frown on his face. "Let go, Feyre. We need to be on our way." 

Lucien mounts his chestnut mare. "He's right. Besides the battle field is no place for a lady." 

I scowl at him, and turn back to Tamlin. "Please. For my sanity, please let me come with you." 

Tam just shakes his head, golden hair wobbling. "No. You need to be here where you'll be safe." 

"I'll be safer with you," I say. 

He's already shaking his head again. "No. That's my final word on the subject." Then he clicks to his horse and they trot down the road. He made his soldiers wait at the end of the drive, either so I can't see the numbers, or so I can't just hide amongst them. 

I watch them until the dust settles in the lane before turning and going back into the estate. They left just after a quiet, solemn breakfast. I glance into the dinning room and see that it has been removed.  _Good,_ I think. I wasn't going to eat anything anyway. 

I stomp up the marble stairs, my sapphire blue skirts wrapping around my ankles unhelpfully. I brush my hair back from my face with the back of my hand.  _Cauldron, it's hot._

I don't see anyone, besides my guards, on my way back to my bedroom. My mind is reeling. I need time to think...to plan. How am I supposed to get information now? In frustration, I slam the door behind me and flop face first onto my bed. The sheets are soft and suffocating against my face. Maybe if I just stayed here long enough, I'd die and Tamlin would feel guilty. 

 _But I was dying last time, and he still didn't do anything._  

I could go down to his study and pretend to read books while actually stealing information. Except no one here knows that I can read, and it would be dangerous for me to attempt to explain. 

Unless I was to do it by night...

For the rest of the day I go through the motions of being Tamlin's doe-eyed finance, content to waste away in this estate planning parties and hosting galas. Elain would be better at this job than I am. She always had a knack for things like this. Nesta was too impatient, and I was never trained by our mother. 

Ianthe, sitting so close to me that our elbows rub together, has a knack for it too. She really would be a great Lady in someone's Court...if she wasn't so cunning and unkind. "What do you think," she asks after a moment of stuffy silence. 

I gaze down at the flashy gold wire she's twined around the civil ware and blush colored napkin to make a bouquet. "It's pretty." We've been in the upstairs drawing room for what seems like two eons. The drapes Ianthe ordered in my name dangle from new gilded curtain rods. Sun streams through the windows and dust dances in the beams. Outside, a bright green lawn dashes from the house to the woods beyond, over hills and around rose bushes under the flat blue sky. 

"You seem bored, Feyre," Ianthe says with a little snort. 

"I'm sorry. It's just that I want to be with Tamlin at the battle field. I want to see what our soldiers look like." I put my chin in my hand and sigh. 

"Are you planning to downgrade with a soldier?" She wiggles her eyebrows and smiles jokingly. 

I let my mouth pop open and lightly smack her shoulder with a loose napkin. "Absolutely not." 

She adjusts her robe around her chest, "Soldiers are  _rough_." 

"Nothing you can't handle I'm sure," I say, plastering a grin on my face. My mind flashes to Rhysand confronting her in his bed. I reach for the bond reflexively, but stop myself. 

Ianthe throws her head back and cackles. Her teeth are long and white like fangs. "Oh, you know it!" She happily goes back to the napkins, wrapping the gold wire around numerous little bundles. "So," she says after a comfortable moment. "Have you heard from the human realm?" 

I give her a wide eyed hopeful look, like I actually still believe that my sisters are there. Living normal lives. I know very well that my sisters were dipped in the Cauldron and remade into Fae...but I was supposed to have been under Rhys's control. So when the King broke the bond I "lost" all memory of that place.  _I wish._ Two days after I came to the Spring Court a familiar disappearing paper arrived: 

_All safe. C & A mending. Good luck. _

That's all I know about the Night Court's progress. 

"No. Have you," I ask. 

Ianthe shakes her head. 

I let my shoulders slump, "Oh. I had hoped..." 

She pats me gently on the shoulder. "I'm sorry Feyre. I guess I should have known that you'd tell me anything if you'd heard something." 

I nod, noting the danger in that sentence. I sigh through my nose, "I'm really worried, though." 

Her voice softens into warm liquid. "About what?" 

"Well, I was raised to think that our existence--the Fae's, I mean--spelled doom for mankind. What happens if this war of ours spills over the wall?" 

Ianthe coos, "Don't worry your pretty head over that. We women really shouldn't bother with wars and power struggles."  _What a joke._

"What will happen to my family, Ianthe?" The sentence comes out more barbed than I imagined it would. 

She shrugs, "Honestly, I don't know. But Tamlin will do his best to keep them safe, of course." She smiles brightly. "Put your faith in him, Feyre." 

I bite my lip, pretend to consider, and then nod. "You're right. But I still wish I was with him." 

"Don't we all? Now come on, let's fix the rest of these and then we'll have the servants attend to the other parts. You need a rest." 

Her words follow me through the rest of the day.  _I guess I should have known that you'd tell me anything if you'd heard something._ That's what got my sisters into this mess in the first place. I'd trusted Ianthe so much in those early days, so wanted her friendship that I volunteered everything. Tamlin had been preoccupied with his own PTSD, and I hadn't known what kind of manipulative monster Ianthe really was back then. 

I eat dinner alone that night, and I'm grateful for the silence. I need time to think without Ianthe asking me whether I think Mrs. Kennington should sit next to her husband or down the table across from her lover. The table is laden with enough food for ten people, and I wrinkle my nose at it.

"Is something wrong?"

I turn to find a young Fae boy looking at me worriedly. He's dressed in a white smock and sensible black slippers, his delicate ears poking out of a mass of thick hair.

"Oh, no," I say. "It all smells lovely...I just..." I stop and gaze at him again. His eyes are glistening in the candle light like a startled deer's as they bounce from me to the food and back. _He's hungry._ I take a breath. "It's only me here, you know, so I was wondering if we could take some of it back. To give to the...uh...other people here." 

The boy blinks at me, cheeks coloring. "The High Lord wanted to make sure you were well fed."

I smile to put him at ease. "Don't worry. I will be. I just don't need all of this extravagance!" When he doesn't relax, I say, "Please, take it back with you. I'll fill a plate first." 

I feel him watching me cautiously as I fill a large golden plate with a mountain of food. My guards are watching too, but I can't tell if they're impressed or confused. When I've set it back down, I send the boy to the kitchen and he returns with three other young Fae.

"Let's pack some of this up, okay? You can take it home with you," I tell them. I know that they live in the lower levels of the house, but they can still share it with their families. To hell with what Ianthe and Tamlin might think. I understand what it's like to be hungry.  

When it's all done, there are twelve different bags and boxes of steaming food. 

"If there are _ever_ any left overs," I say. "You may take some." I sit back at my place as they leave, spooning up a bite. I've just brought it to my mouth when someone says, 

"We don't need your charity."

I snap my head around, half expecting to find Nesta with her arms crossed over her chest. Instead it's a female with sharp cheek bones and hardened green eyes. Her skin as as pale as the moon. I blink at her. "I know." 

Her lip curls, revealing delicately pointed teeth. My guards move closer to me with their hands on the hilt of their swords. The girl glances at them, and then glares back at me. "There are other Fae out there starving, you know. And here you sit with all of this food." 

This time two of my guards seize her roughly by the arms. She winces but doesn't lose that hard glare until they move to take her away. 

"Stop."  _How dare she? Accuse me of being one of them, of wanting all of this pampering?_ "I gave my food away to what I thought was a worthy cause. But if you know people who are more hungry than you and your friends then you may take all of the leftovers from the kitchen to them." I can hear notes of anger in the steely calm of my voice. 

Her eyes bulge, "What?" 

I shrug, "I certainly don't need it, as you've pointed out." 

One of my guards opens his mouth to say something and then clamps it shut again. 

"What is your name," I ask her. 

"Celeste." 

"Where does the food usually go?" 

"The garbage, ma'am." 

I nod thoughtfully. "Well, Celeste, it looks like you've found yourself a second job."

"Let go of her," I command to the guards. They step back. 

She blinks, rubbing her arms. "Thank you." 

I nod and she quickly slips from the room in a flash of platinum curls. I cross my arms and gaze around at the empty dinning room. Darkness has fallen outside the enormous windows, and I feel myself yawning. I finish my cold dinner without tasting it, have myself a bath, and fall straight to sleep. 

The next morning marks the second day of Tamlin's absence. I dress myself early, braiding my hair in a simple plait down my back. As I gaze at myself in the mirror, I realize that Alis was right. Compared to the hollowed girl I was after Amarantha, I do look a bit chubby around my cheeks. 

 _He might let you go on the next trip if he thinks the stress of him being in battle has worried you this much_ , I think. Then I smirk at myself. 

The gray dawn is giving way to baby blues as I venture quietly down the marble steps. Two of my guards flank me on the left and right, two are in the back, and one is in the front as an extra precaution. Because Ianthe won't be up yet, I decide to go to the library. _No one knows that I can read, but maybe I can pretend to be teaching myself out of old history books._

Inside is dusty, lit only by the light from outside. I could light these candles myself, but what kind of damsel would I be if I set my prison on fire. 

"Will you please light these," I ask the nearest guard. He, too, is young with brown hair and almond colored eyes. 

He nods and sets off with his partner. Soon every space in the giant room is lit with a soft yellowy glow. 

I smile at him as I head off into the books. "Thank you so much." He blushes. 

The shelves are teaming with information that I might need. Each one is crammed with books; old books with broken spines, brand new editions with glossy covers, and faded papers stuffed in between. They tower far above my head, requiring ladders made of silver to reach the top. A black spiral staircase in the back corner leads up to a loft. Already there are two guards posted by it. 

"What's up there," I ask the one on the left. 

"Nothing, really, ma'am," he answers. "Just some outdated maps and a few spare books." 

"I'd like to see the view from up there," I say pleasantly. 

He shakes his head, "No ma'am. Our orders---" His partner elbows him in the ribs. The first guard clears his throat. "Sorry." 

I shrug, "Alright then." With one last glance up there, I realize that the loft is exactly where I'll be tonight. 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venturing into the library after dark and alone, Feyre practices a her firepower. The next morning, she has an anxiety attack in the bathtub. When she makes it to dinner that night, she realizes that she really doesn't want the food and surprises Ianthe by having Celeste take it away.

The library is silent as I creep forward on bare feet. The skirts of my lacy nightgown twine around my legs, making it difficult to hurry around. I reach down and pull the fabric up around my waist, tucking it into my underwear. For a fleeting moment, I wonder what Rhys would say if he could see me now. I weave my way through the stacks and towers of books near the back, searching for the spiral staircase. 

My guards are still stationed at my room. I soothed their minds to believe that I hadn't left at all. I learned to do that after I escaped my room one night for a midnight snack. The whole exchange had resulted in a guard change and the disappearance of the man in charge. 

In the darkness, my toe strikes something metal. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth to stop myself from screeching in pain. A gong-like noise is reverberating in through the shelves. For a tense moment, I stand completely still. Cool sweat rolls down my spine, hitting every bump on its way down. When I'm sure that no one is coming, I carefully climb the stairs. The sound of my feet on the dusty metal is like someone running on wet sand. 

Finally, I near the vaulted ceiling. With a huff I heave myself onto a chair. Already I'm so out of shape compared to what I was in the Night Court, at the height of training with Cassian. I sigh inwardly and tip my head back to look at the dark panels above me. In another world, this library would be warm and inviting. Now it's just dusty and cold. I need to light a fire to see, but do I dare? I haven't practiced in weeks. I could set this whole room ablaze, and then where would I end up?  

I grind my teeth until I hear them squeak.  _But if you don't then you snuck out for no reason._ With a sigh, I hold my arm out and point my finger at the floor. I imagine the fire in the magical cabin in the Illyrian mountains, how cheerful and warm it was. I imagine the stars and the sun, burning for eternity above us. I imagine setting the Weaver's cabin on fire and hearing her hair raising scream as the greasy flames leap up her walls. I imagine setting Ianthe's altar room on fire and watching the burnished gold drip from the candles. Anger at the thought of Ianthe and the Weaver heats my cheeks and makes tiny pricks of sweat form under my arms. Weakly, a yellow spark flickers at the end of my finger. 

I smile as it fades. At least I can do it. 

For hours, I sit there. I think of everything that pisses me off: Nesta's attitude, my father's absence, Ianthe, Tamlin's coddling, the fact that I can't be with my mate so soon after finding him. The King of Hybern turning my sisters into Fae. Elain's ruined wedding. My fingers spark and my palm even holds a tiny flame for a few minutes, but it isn't strong enough to light a candle yet. 

A clock bongs somewhere in the estate. It's four in the morning. I slide off the chair and feel for the stairs again. The metal is freezing compared to my red hot hands. I slink to the bottom and make my way back to my room. I don't dare winnow. 

When Ianthe finds me in bed at eight that morning, she seems surprised. "You're usually dressed by now." 

I shrug and pull the feather pillow back over my head. 

"It doesn't look right for a Lady of the Spring Court to be in bed after seven," she says. I hear her cross to my wardrobe and jerk out a dress. The silk rustles as she throws it on the end of the bed. "You should be up and about." 

"Oh, go away," I mumble. 

"What was that?" 

"I'll be up in a second," I snap. I throw back the duvet and stomp into the bathing room. Alis appears and shuts the door after Ianthe. 

"Someone's crabby this morning," she says as she draws the bath. 

I shrug again. 

"Nightmares?"

When I don't answer, she steps outside to give me privacy. She's been doing that ever since we had that fight...I think she understands that Tamlin wouldn't want her exactly...in the bath with me. 

I listen to the water gurgling in the tub, trying to let it calm my sudden annoyance and guilt.  _You just had a late night. You're just tired._ I shut off the water. 

The sound of my guards taking their place outside the door makes my heart suddenly pound. The drip of the faucet makes me cringe. I step into the bath and blink, but there are unwavering dark edges around my vision. I can see them growing. The bath water suddenly feels too hot, like it's boiling me alive. I watch what would have been pleasant steam rise off the water as if it's about to suffocate me. I grip the sides of the tub until my knuckles are white and feel my head spin. My mind races and I feel my heart sprinting to keep up. I open my mouth and try to breathe, but something's wrong. It's like my throat has been clogged. 

The weight of my responsibility suddenly slams down on my shoulders; the doubt and the loneliness I've been shoving away for twelve weeks crashes into the bathroom with me. _There are guards at your door again, Feyre,_ says a cold, familiar voice in my head.  _You're trapped with me, Feyre. Again and again and again. Forever until death do us part...and then for eternity._  And I scream. 

Wind and water combine and begin to swirl around me until there's a proper hurricane twirling through the bathroom. The window behind me shatters into a million shards of sparkling glass. The hurricane whips them at my face, and hazy twilight explodes from every pore on my body. I scream again, in terror, as I see a dark shape move in the corner. Crimson hair, creamy white skin. 

 _It's her, she's back,_ my mind says. Hands grab my forearms and force them down. I kick out with my legs, and feel my heel connect with a bone. It cracks. Desperation consumes me. Black stone walls spring up around me, plastered with grimy mud and dripping with cold water.  _Trapped trapped,_ I might as well be a rabbit in a wolf's den. 

Then there's a forceful tug on the bond. I gasp and reach for him, the warmth and security at the end of the road.  _It's okay, Feyre darling._

All at once, the hurricane and the darkness die, and everything is left soaking wet. My guards are all around me, some looking bewildered and others looking terrified. Alis is at the very back, eyes wide and mouth open. 

"Feyre," she whispers. "What happened?" 

I feel myself shake my head. I can breathe again, and it comes out in ragged gasps. My hair is wrapped around my neck from the wind. It feels like a noose. I claw at it with sharp nails that leave red marks down my throat. Suddenly, I convulse and spit up bile. 

"Get her to the bed," Alis snaps at the nearest guard. 

He has red hair and white skin marred by orange freckles. His nose is bleeding profusely. 

"I'm sorry," I mutter. 

A towel is wrapped around my body for modesty. I almost laugh. Strong arms lift me out of the tub and sit me gently on the white sheets of my bed. I curl up on my side instantly, and tears leak down my cheeks. I close my eyes as the door opens and admits Ianthe. 

"What happened," she asks Alis. 

"An attack," the maid spits. "Probably had nightmares all night, the poor thing. You need to call Tamlin back." 

"Lord Tamlin is at the front with his troops," Ianthe says with a hard edge to her voice. "He's where he needs to be." 

"Lord Tamlin," says Alis with malice, "Should be here. With his fiancé, the Lady of the Spring Court, Feyre Cursebreaker." 

Ianthe makes a little noise in her throat. A second later, the door slams. Pictures rattle on the wall. 

I feel the bed dip under Alis's weight. A soft hand brushes the wet hair off of my neck and face. "Get some rest." 

I obey, falling into a nightmarish sleep. When I wake up, it's dark outside. The sky is riddled with stars. Someone has left a candle burning on the side table. I push myself to a sitting position and bring my knees to my chest. The echoes of Amarantha's words wheel around in my mind.  _You're trapped with me, Feyre. Again and again and again._ I know that wasn't her speaking...but I shudder as I look at the darkened doorway of the bathroom.  _She's right,_ I think.  _You are trapped._

With a sharp inhale, I rise and brush my hair until it submits to being braided. I touch the tiny scratches on my cheeks from the glass and then I jerk on the dress Ianthe had picked out this morning. It's rose colored with white piping down the sides. 

The corridor outside is desolate. My guards look surprised to see me, and the one on the right knits his brow together. 

"The Priestess told us you would be sleeping all day, ma'am." 

"I'm hungry," I say. I look around. "Where is the redheaded guard?" 

"Octavian was taken to the infirmary to have his nose healed, ma'am," he answers. 

I nod. "I am sorry for that." 

"He knows, madam." 

I lead the procession into the dinning room. Ianthe sits at the long table alone, head bowed in what I assume is a prayer. When we enter, her head jerks up so quickly that her hood falls back. 

"Feyre!" 

I take my seat and fill a plate with food. My guards stand at attention close by. "Tell Celeste she'll have a mountain for the poor, tonight." 

"Who," asks Ianthe as a lesser guard disappears towards the kitchen. 

A headache is slowly forming between my eyes. "Celeste is a young girl who will be taking our leftovers to the poor after every meal," I inform her. 

Ianthe deftly slices into her meat. "I was not aware that we practiced such programs." 

I shrug. "We do as of...two nights ago? Maybe last night?" 

"Is that wise? To implement a new system without the High Lord's approval?" 

"Ianthe," I say. "I have a terrible headache coming on after today's episode. I will discuss this with Tamlin when he returns, but we are involved in a war at this very moment, and it only makes sense that we do without for a while. Especially since our own people are hungry." 

"How do you know they're hungry," she asks quickly, glancing involuntarily at my guards. 

"I guessed." 

Ianthe raises her eyebrows until they almost form a triangle with her brow bone. "I see." 

I chew my food carefully, but when I look down at it, I realize that I don't want it. After not eating all day, the thought of buttery potatoes and salty meats makes me sick. I stand, downing wine from my goblet. "See that Celeste clears this," I say to the guard who has just returned from the kitchen. 

Then I lead my procession back to my room. Locked inside, I down another goblet of wine from the cabinet some Faerie nobel gave me upon my return. Two minutes later, I'm gripping the sides of the basin as I vomit.

I fall into a a dreamless yet fitful sleep.  


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre enters Tamlin's mind and manages to change it in her favor. A small victory for Team Night Court.

I pass my nights in the library, trying hard to light a fire with my power. I strain until I can feel the sinews in my neck popping, and then I try again. By the time I make it back to my room, I am too exhausted to go to breakfast or lunch. Alis makes me eat toast, and then I go into the drawing room with Ianthe for hours. I don't dare paint, afraid that a certain High Lord will make an appearance on canvas. 

The estate is always filled with people; Tamlin's friends from the old days, emissaries from other courts, and servants. And always the guards in their light blue uniforms and golden hilted swords. But most of the time the emissaries and other High Fae leave me quite alone. I politely get invited to parties where I know I'm not wanted, yet always welcomed because of my status. 

It's these periods when loneliness seizes me the most. It always creeps in on silent feline feet and makes a meal of my brain. 

The morning after a semi-triumphant night in the library, I hear the jingle of horse's harnesses through a veiled sleep. I sit up in bed, already reaching for my silk robe. I jerk it over my shoulders as I gaze out my window into the garden and see a familiar head of bright gold. The early light is still soft from dawn, not quite yellow but not quite white either. 

I run down the marble stairs barefoot, and stop in front of the opening door breathlessly. My guards arrange themselves at my back as Tamlin steps into the foyer. 

I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him before he can even wrap his arms around my back. When he sets me down, I lean back to look at him, touching his face softly. "You're home!" 

He kisses the top of my head happily. 

"How was the front?" 

"It was busy," he tells me carefully, a guarded smile dropping over his features. "And smelly. But boring without you, I'll admit." 

I laugh, "Then you should take me with you next time." I poke him in the side. 

He pretends to be hurt from the jab. "How was the estate while I was gone? Did everyone behave?" 

"Of course," I say.  _This is a good time to tell him about Celeste._ "I even started a new program!" 

His burnt gold eyebrows rise in surprise. "Oh?" 

"I noticed how much extra food we always have after banquets and meals," I begin. His face clouds with suspicion, and I try not to betray my own annoyance. "So I enlisted the help of a servant girl who works in the kitchens here. She's going to take our leftovers to the hungry people in our villages." 

"Feyre," he says. "There aren't hungry people in our villages." 

"There must be," I protest. "There's a war going on. In the human realm there are always hungry people when their men go off to war." 

He looks pained. "This isn't the human realm. Things are different." 

I shrug, "Even if there aren't  _starving_ people, there have to be poor people. It would set a good example for our people if we cut back on expenses." 

I feel despair tugging on my stomach as he shakes his head again.  _No_ , I think.  _This has to work._ I throw all of my power towards his mind, stroking gently on the thorny wall that was built to keep people like Rhysand and I out. His face clouds with a puzzled look just as I feel the branches shift under my touch.  _I'm in._

 _I am spring. I am spring._ I think. I push even more.  _I am a cooling breeze on a warm day. I am dew on new grass, sunshine through a rainbow. Buds on branches. I am spring. I am spring. I am pink and baby blue and white and the lightest shade of lavender. I am every pastel. I am warm, not hot and not cold. I am the smell of rain on berries. The sweetest of roses, the youngest fawn on the wobbliest legs. I am spring--_

Then I slip in, and I am Tamlin. 


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spring Court is attacked by an unknown force. Feyre is outraged when she is taken to the study to be kept safe, and she day dreams about her friends coming to rescue her.

Or at least, I'm in his head. I feel hundreds of years weighing on my shoulders, a millions feelings whirling through my heart. A strong protective feeling makes my throat tighten as I blink. I'm staring right at myself, standing in the dimly lit foyer. I look pale, but still healthy. My eyes look stormy. My hair is sticking up in odd places, and my cheeks are pink. An intense love courses through my veins, almost as intense as the love I feel for Rhys--but it's wrong, all wrong. It feels suffocating and dutiful compared to the light friendship of the bond between Rhys and I. 

Then suddenly I'm spiraling back into my own body, blinking up at the High Lord of Spring. Trying not to shudder, I brush his thorny mental shields with a calloused hand.  _Come on,_ I think.  _Let Feyre keep the program._ _Feyre needs to have something to do with herself while I'm gone._ The voice in my head sounds deep and rough--exactly like his. I may hate him, but this is trespassing of the highest degree. 

I can feel the urge to nod along with what I'm planting in his head. 

"I'm not happy that you did this behind my back, Feyre," he says, sighing. "But it would be good for you to have a hobby besides painting." 

I nod, smiling, and withdraw myself fully from his head. He picks up my hand and rubs it between his two rough ones. 

"I love you, Feyre," he whispers. "I've missed you." 

I bring one of his hands to my mouth and kiss it, placing the palm against my cheek. "You're home now and that's all that matters." 

He smiles and picks me up in his arms. Carefully he makes his way up the staircase. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes, and listening to the quickening beat of his heart. His golden hair tickles my cheek. I try to imagine that I'm somewhere else as he lays me down in my bed and crawls up to meet me. I smirk up at him as I trace the top of his pants with my fingertips, fiddling with the belt. 

He grimaces, growling slightly, as I draw my hand across his crotch. I gaze up into his green eyes and wish that they were violet, wish that he was pale, wish that he had jet black hair cut short. Claws slice out of his hand and rip through the delicate fabric of my night gown. They comb down my skin gently, raising goosebumps as they go. I grind my hips against his, and he snatches my wrists in his hands. With a swift motion, they're flattened against the pillows while his claws draw patterns on my stomach. A beast playing with his food. He bends and kisses from my jaw to my belly button, slowly and deliberately. The grip on my hands tighten as I grind against him again. 

"Feyre," he snarls softly in my ear. 

I shut my eyes as his kisses travel farther south.  _Cauldron boil me,_ I think. I've been faking it for months, faking this love for months. It's not that this doesn't work for me...it's just not  _him_. 

As soon as the thought lands in my brain an image explodes. Rhysand's tawny abs and shoulders. His hand dipping below the waistband of his pants. The sound of his roar, the roar that I have coaxed from him. The feeling of his hair on my skin, his hands on my hips, his mouth on mine, and his teeth on my ear. His voice prowls down the bond, wrapping itself around me. 

_Was that enough, Feyre darling?_

_No, you prick,_ I snap back, the voice in my mind suddenly breathless. 

So he sends more as Tamlin continues. I gasp and ball the sheets in my hands. Sweat beads on my upper lip. I yell Tamlin's name even though I want to scream my mate's. 

Tamlin finishes, and I relax back onto the bed. My muscles are weak, my body is slick with sweat. My chest heaves. Tamlin falls on his back next to me. 

"Good?" 

"Yes." 

_I can do better than that, Feyre darling._

_I know you can._

_Call me if you need me again._

_Prick._ The bond quivers with glee and then silences. It grows cold in my chest. I fight to keep the tears from blossoming in my eyes as Tamlin wraps an arm around my naked waist and hugs me closer. I flip on my side, close my eyes, and pray that sleep takes me to Rhys. 

For the days that Tamlin is home, there are less guards. I am free to go anywhere in the estate alone, but if I want to go outside I have to take an attendee. I spend my time in the kitchen with Celeste, organizing the different foods. 

She reminds me of my sisters so much that for the first hour it's hard not to accidentally call her by their names. 

"You remind me of Nesta and Elain," I tell her. "Passionate and gentle at the same time." 

She smiles. "Thank you ma'am. I've heard of your sisters." 

"Really?" 

"I've heard that Elain is like you but softer." 

I smile wistfully at the flour samples in front of me. "Softer? Yes, I think she liked to spend her money on lotions instead of food." 

Celeste watches my face carefully to see if I'm kidding. "Everyone in the village knows about your past. How you fought to keep your family alive for so long even though you were the youngest. You're a hero to my brothers." 

Embarrassed, I touch my right arm where the Illyrian tattoo would be. 

"Sorry," the young Faerie says. "Mother is always getting mad at me for comments like that." 

I push the conversation away from me. "I didn't know you had a mother. You look old enough to be married." 

She blushes, her delicately pointed ears turning pink. 

"Oh," I say. "Do you have a suitor?" 

"Yes," she answers. Her eyes shine, but before she can continue one of my guards bursts through the door. 

"Madam," he barks. "You are to come with me right away." 

Alarmed, Celeste and I jump to our feet. The guard takes my elbow roughly and escorts me through the swinging kitchen door. Somewhere in the mansion, I can hear shouting and explosions. The rush of boots on marble. My heart thunders, my blood roars in my ears, and my knees lock. 

"Take me to the fighting immediately." 

"Absolutely not," the guard says. His face is like steel. "The High Lord says to take you to the east wing of the mansion. It is the safest." 

"You could at least tell me what in the world is happening!" 

"Top secret." 

I plant my feet. "I am his future wife! I need to be there." 

The guard groans, and before I know it, I'm hoisted over his shoulder. I beat his back in sudden fury, imagining what might happen if I suddenly grew claws. I feel answering fury roar down the bond. I send mental images to Rhys.  _There's a battle happening somewhere. I don't know what's going on. No one will tell me._

_Stay safe Feyre darling. Do not fight._

The bond grows cold again and I start to cry. Tears roll down my cheeks, but I don't care. The rest of my guards have gone to the west wing to fight. It's just me and this man who dares carry me like a sack of flour. 

We reach the study and he sets me down gently in an overstuffed chair. 

"Madam," he says, eyes on the ground. "I apologize. It was the only way to move you." 

He's right, of course. "Get up. Guard the door." I try to look like a frightened rabbit. I wipe hastily at my damp cheeks. "Please. I'm afraid." 

The man's face softens as he crosses the room. In seconds I'm alone again. I gaze out the giant window that overlooks some of the gardens. Roses bloom like blood clots against the green foliage. I close my eyes as another explosion rocks the house. It sounds closer. 

For hours I sit in the chair, drumming my fingers on the arm and willing the fighting to stop. My mind races. This is the first time we've been attacked directly by outside forces. Rhys would have given me the signal if I needed to leave. Rhys would have told me if he was attacking. If it isn't the Night Court...is it one of our allies? The Day Court? Winter? 

I imagine Mor coming and shattering the giant window in front of me, extending her hand, and winnowing us directly to the House of Winds. I imagine Cassian bursting through the door with a sword dripping crimson blood on the rug, a rugged smirk, and his black wings open wide. Fully healed. I imagine Azriel appearing at my side in a cloak of darkness with a quiet smile. I imagine Amren simply striding through the front doors of the mansion, silver eyes flickering with power. 

I imagine Rhysand descending upon the mansion in a thunderclap, surrounded by a thousand bolts of lighting and stars. Blinding the nearest guards, snapping the minds of the rest. Grabbing me gently from my chair as I let go of the magic hold over my tattoo. I imagine his roar as we winnow back to the cabin in the mountains. We would fight the war later. 

But of course, none of this happens. 

 _Rhys,_ I jerk at the bond.  _Rhys!_ Nothing. I reach for the black adamant shields and draw back from the frozen walls I find. 

A sudden quiet falls over the mansion. I stop chewing my cuticle and stare at the double doors. There's yelling outside and the rush of heavy footsteps. The clink of metal. 

They burst open, banging so hard against the walls that the books tumble off the shelves. Tamlin strides in, golden hair matted with sweat, eyes blazing from battle, and sword painted red. When he spots me, he scoops me up and kisses me so hard that I think my teeth bend. The hilt digs into my forearm. When he sets me down he cups my cheek and brushes his thumb over my cheek bones. 

"Are you alright Feyre?" 

"Yes." I let my eyes trail over him. "Are you?" There's a spot of dark blood on his chest. I glance down and see a similar patch on my new dress. 

"Fine. We beat them back. A bunch of rebels from the neighboring courts." He sheathes his sword without cleaning it and kisses me again. "I'm glad you're safe." 

I look up into his bright eyes, "Is there anything I can do to help--clean up?" 

He shakes his head. "Someone will take care of that. Let's get out of the house for a bit." He looks over his shoulder at one of the guards who followed him to the study. "Get us our horses. We're going for a ride. And tell Alis to get Feyre's paints." He smiles back at me. "Let me get changed, love." 

Then he's gone, clomping away with his sword keeping time at his hip. I bite my lip as I look down at my own blood stained gown.  _Pig._ Approval brushes against my mental shields, and I smirk to myself as my guard leads me to my chambers. 

 

 


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Tamlin go on a picnic and spend the night under the stars. During that time Feyre talks Tamlin into relieving some of the guards that surround her, and gets him to agree to let her come to meetings.

Tamlin leads me into the garden by the hand, holding it tightly as if I might escape. Besides a few russet splotches on the gravel and servants carrying smelly towels, there is no sign of the skirmish that had taken place moments ago. 

"Who attacked," I ask, throwing nervous notes into my voice. 

"We aren't sure," he answers. He glances back at me. "Don't worry, darling, we beat them back. We're reenforcing the shields and troops around the estate and our borders." 

I nod as if I'm wholly relieved, but I wish that I could reach and smack his mouth for calling me by Rhys's pet name. Inwardly, I stroke the bond.  _They're reenforcing their borders. Magic and soldiers._ There's no answering warmth, but I don't have the luxury of stretching towards his mental shields because Tamlin tugs on my wrist. 

"You don't have to be afraid, Feyre," he says. 

I realize that I've stopped in the middle of the road. Behind us, my guards stop as well and pretend to be very interested in the rose bushes. I chew my lip in fake lingering anxiety and clasp my hands together. "I don't want any more killing." I make my lip tremble. 

He cups my face in his calloused, warm hands. "Don't worry about it. Please." 

"I don't want any more killing or darkness or fear," I whisper hoarsely.  _Which is true. I don't want murder and war and battles._ I want peace and Rhys and the kind of darkness that dreams are born from. The one-o-clock-in-the-morning stars and three-o-clock harvest moon. "I want sunshine," I lie, looking him in the eye. I feel crocodile tears drip from my chin. 

He bends and kisses them away. "You will always have sunshine. I promise." He kisses me deeply on my mouth and hugs me to him. He feels solid against me, but it's all wrong. 

"Come on," he says after a moment. "No more tears. We're going on a picnic." 

I pull back, plastering a smile on my face. "Really?" 

"I owe you for being so strong while I'm away." He squeezes my upper arms. 

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. Then I glance down at the mountain of turquoise fabric and glitter that Ianthe calls a gown. "I'm not dressed for a picnic though." 

"You look perfect." He lifts me into his arms and carries me down to the gate where two twin white horses wait. A knight in shining armor indeed. 

I sit sidesaddle, noticing that my horse is attached to his with a gilded strap. I grip the reins. "Tam," I say. "Race me down the hill?" 

He hesitates. Then with one motion, slices through the leather that tethered me to his stallion. He smiles triumphantly, "I trust you." 

A horse's gallop is the closest I've gotten to flying in months. I let him win as a reward and then we trot down the forest path for a ways. I can hear my guards' horses clomping along behind us as we bounce along. The canopy is dark green and warm overhead, birds twitter and gossip in the branches, and ferns line the path. We turn right at a huge oak in the center of the path and canter down a small ridge. 

"Stop here," he says to the guards. He gestures for me to follow, still on the horse, and we break through the luscious green undergrowth. There's a little camp set up on the other side with a fire pit, a huge tent, and comfortable blankets and cushions to sit on. A brook babbles happily a three feet from the tent's side, silver and clear at the same time. Glancing up, I follow the almost vaulted ceiling of the trees and see the sky peeking through. 

I beam at him. "All of this for me?" 

"I had them set it up last night." He helps me down. The ground is springy under my slippers. "Go see inside the tent." 

I gently pull back the canvas flap and find the inside almost as big as my bedroom in the mansion. There are carpets covering what would be a mossy ground, cushions and low ornate tables heaped with rich foods and pitchers of wine, and a massive bed piled high with feathery blankets. Fae lights bob through the air like tiny drops of sunlight, casting a golden glow over everything. Everywhere I look there is gold or bronze. In the corner, surrounded by pillows, is an easel with a blank white canvas balanced on it. Paints and brushes sit waiting on a little table. There's even a stool high enough for me to sit comfortably on while I paint. 

He puts a hand on my shoulder and I look up. "It's splendid." 

"Only the finest for our picnic. I want to do this right," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I want to start over." His green eyes look like the forest moss, dark and a bit moist. "I made a mistake, locking you in the estate that day. When I came home and you weren't there I--" He falls silent, balling his fists. 

We haven't spoken of this since I came back from Hybern. He's been to busy making love to me while he's home to have serious conversations, and when he's away we don't talk for weeks. Not even through letters. 

I study him, trying to see if there is real remorse in those sparkling eyes. I reach out and stroke his thorny mental shields, brushing past the fat rose blossoms. I slip in easily and am almost overpowered by the sensations of guilt that courses through me. I blink and reel myself back into my body. I reach up to touch his cheek, then grip the back of his neck drawing him to my mouth. "All is forgiven," I say against his ear, wanting to grow claws and slice through his smooth skin.  _Nothing is forgotten._

He lets his head fall upon my shoulder, and I feel tears leak out of his eyes. His arms encircle me. "I thought I had lost you, Feyre. That note they sent--I thought that they'd done the unthinkable. And when Lucien couldn't bring you home--we all thought you would be trapped there forever. A slave in your own mind and---" and then he can't talk anymore. He's shaking and his voice is incoherent. 

Disgust and anger well up like a bubble inside of my chest. _He doesn't know. About Velaris. About the Court of Dreams. About the Inner Circle. He doesn't know how kind Rhys is, or what sacrifices he has made._ I press my lips together to keep from screaming and try to breathe. Try to stay cool before I burst into flames and burn him and this tent and this forest and this court to the ground. 

I swallow and rub his back in little circles. "Shh. It's okay. I'm home now. Forever, remember? You just have to let me in, Tamlin. You have to let me help you," I tell him quietly. "I can. I used to be a huntress. I can do _something_ to help this war, to stop it from getting bigger. From destroying you, us." 

He raises his head and straightens, cupping my face in his hands. "You're so thin, Feyre."

"I've been worried about you."

He studies me. I reach for his shields again, but this time I don't even have to touch it. "Have you really? So worried that you're wasting away?" 

I glance in the mirror that is propped against the stiff canvas wall. My cheek bones are almost as sharp, my cheeks almost as gaunt, as the day I walked Velaris for the first time with Rhysand and noticed how weak I had become. I fight to keep the triumphant smirk off my face. My plan is working. I've been losing weight to scare Tamlin into letting me participate. 

"Yes," I murmur. "You agreed when we first got back that there were to be no more guards or rules. But that hasn't happened and it's like you're locking me up again." I watch his defensive nature rise and then fall like waves on a shore. "I need to help. To have something to do. I can't go back into the dark." I mean the empty person that I was before Mor rescued me that day when I was screaming in the manor. 

"You have your program with the hungry," he tries, forgetting for a moment that there aren't supposed to be hungry. 

"I need to help _you_. Or at least be by your side so that I know you're okay.  _Please._ And no more guards. It's like I'm back Under the Mountain again." 

Pain flashes across his face along with unseen memories. I stay out of his head, not wanting to see myself from his point of view. Not wanting to know why he hadn't even _tried_ to help me. He sighs heavily. "Feyre---" 

"Tamlin."

I look into his eyes, pleading silently with no magic. _Please. Please._ I need this to work. I need to have something to show for three months and no results. 

"Alright. You can come to meetings." He smiles in spite of himself. "It'll be good to have a female for a change."

Elated, I throw my arms around his shoulders and kiss his entire face. I send the new developments down the bond, and an answering triumphant roar echoes back. I feel a whisper of Rhys at my back, warm and solid and _mine_. I smell his scent. Jasmine and wind and stars and the spices of Velaris. Then all at once it's gone, replaced by overpowering spring dew and roses and Tamlin. 

He's hugging me just as tightly. I feel him harden against me and brace myself... 

That night we feast on roasted meat, soft rolls found in a hamper, and the delicate fruits that were on the tables. After dinner, I'm on my back looking at the stars through the canopy, wishing I could sprout wings to fly up and kiss them. 

 _Good job, Feyre darling,_ Rhys says in my head.

I smile up at the glowing orbs pressed in the violet sky, and for a second I think one of them winks back. 


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre awakes to Ianthe arguing with Tamlin. She's urging a proposal and a subsequent marriage to show a "united front." Tamlin forces her to leave. While making out in the stream, they are surprised by three soldiers returning from the battle field. Tamlin makes plans to go, but won't allow Feyre to. He proposes instead, and when Feyre begins to refuse him again, he explodes.

When I wake up in the morning, the bed is still warm next to me. There are empty wine glasses littered on the floor along with pomegranate and apple carcasses. The sheets are a mess, stained red with either wine or juice. 

I rub my eyes, feeling a slight pounding in my head. Faerie wine is dangerous stuff; I'd only had a glass and a half and I was a bit hungover, so I can't imagine how Tamlin feels--he'd had a pitcher to himself. 

Struggling out of the bed, I find a silky robe and throw it over my naked shoulders. My hair looks like a bird's nest, so I pile it on top of my head and pin it in place. Ianthe would be appalled. I smirk to myself, but feel the color drain from my face as I hear voices outside. 

I straightened and freeze, ears straining to hear through the thick walls of canvas. I can see Tamlin's silhouette against the white background; he has his arms crossed over his chest and is nodding.

"I haven't asked her yet," he says. He sounds tense and annoyed.

"Well get a move on! If she loves you like she says she does, then she'll jump at the chance." Ianthe.

I can't see her, but I would know that sultry voice anywhere. I move slightly to my left, hoping to get a glimpse of her silhouette as well, but she is firmly planted in front of Tamlin.

He shakes his head again, "No. You don't understand. I've asked her a dozen times about the wedding since she returned. She needs more time to heal. We don't know what they did to her in the Night Court--she could--" He breaks off and stands silent for a moment, gazing down at the priestess. 

"You know as well as I do that you need a powerful match in order to stand strong against the outside forces, or Hybern will pick another partner and run this court into the ground. He'll take her down first, unless you can get her to agree. She's powerful, and you know it. You remember that she blocked your power with her own winds." Ianthe sounds cunning, like a coyote stalking its prey. "And don't forget what Lucien told us about their encounter in Night Court territory." 

I remember that well. The wings, the talons. My refusal to go with him. The fear in the emissary's eyes as he winnowed away. I can't imagine what Tamlin was like when Lucien reported the encounter. A study wall dripping with fresh paint flashes through my mind. 

"She needs more time." 

I imagine Ianthe shrugging, the folds of her robe rippling in the morning light. "You'd better hope she says yes. For her sake as well as ours." 

Tamlin growls. "Do not patronize me, Ianthe. I am the High Lord of the Spring Court, your superior in every way." 

"Then act like it." 

Tamlin lashes out in one fluid motion with out so much as a warning growl, his silhouette growing claws and slashing at the priestess. There's a slight feminine squeal of surprise and defiance. I see the shadow of horns curl out of his skull. "Leave," he snarls quietly. 

"As you wish." 

Thick silence falls upon the clearing. I hurry back to the bed, slipping the robe off and tossing it back where I found it. When Tamlin comes in, I pretend to have just pinned my hair up. "Good morning." 

He smiles and comes over to give me a quick kiss. "Good morning. How did you sleep?" 

"Like a rock," I say. "Although now my head is killing me." 

"You should have called for me," he says. He rubs my shoulders for a minute, and I relax into his touch. "I have something that will take the pain away." 

"Really?" I twist to face him. "Where?" I let my eyes drop to his pants.  

"Not there," he chuckles. He strides to a little cabinet next to the wardrobe and takes out a flask of cloudy white liquid. He brings it to me along with a saucer of strawberries. 

I chase the liquid with the berries and almost immediately start to feel better. "So this is how you can handle a whole pitcher by yourself." 

His eyes sparkle. "Come on. Let's go for a swim." 

"I didn't bring--" The smirk on his face cuts me off and I match it. 

He scoops me up and carries me to the bubbling stream. He wades right in up to his thighs in the cool spring water. It tickles my back as he lowers us gently into the stream. 

"That's cold," I protest. He smiles wickedly and dunks me under the surface. I come up sputtering and force a laugh. I wipe the water from my eyes, "How rude!" 

He laughs and I watch his throat bob. _What would you do if you were with Rhysand,_ I ask myself. 

I yank the green tunic off over his head, almost ripping the seams. Then I fiddle with his belt. 

"Naughty hands," he hisses in my ear. 

_Cruel, beautiful thing._

I almost sob as memories of the cabin twist my stomach. The bath. The paint. But I keep unbuckling his belt and throw it on the bank with a slap. His hands are all over me, but I block them out as I work on the buttons of his leggings. 

With a low growl he pulls me through the current to the opposite bank. He backs out of the stream, water streaming off his muscles and making his tanned skin glisten in the morning light. He starts kissing me, but I smirk wickedly and flip him. Tamlin lands on his back with a thunk, wincing as pebbles dig into his back and surprised at my sudden strength. That melts into something else as I straddle him and run a fingernail from his chin to his waistband, goosebumps rising as I go. He lets his head drop back, gazing at the blue sky with slowly darkening eyes underneath thick lashes. I follow the path from his throat to his waistband with my lips and then my tongue, feeling his muscles tighten as a lazy snarl leaks from his mouth. I lean over him, my hair forming a damp curtain around our heads, and kiss him hungrily. 

"Making the most of my time," he mumbles around me. 

" _Our_ time." 

He starts to say something but I cut him off with a saucy nip on his earlobe and the side of his neck. He gasps as I continue that trail down his body. 

"Feyre," he says breathlessly as I brush my fingers along his waistband again. "I like you like this. In charge." 

I sit back, and see the disappointment flicker across his face. I pretend to pick at my nail, watching him like a cat. "Do you?" 

"Sexy," he says, eyes traveling from my face to the naked plane of my stomach and farther. 

I smile and think about where I'm going to bite him next when I hear rustling behind us. Tamlin sits up, eyes already narrowing into jade slits as he wraps an arm around my waist. Our heads swivel to watch three males emerge from the underbrush, all three sweating. 

"My Lord," the middle one gasps. His mouth open and closes like a fish. 

Tamlin is on his feet in seconds and I sprawl on the ground. He shoves me behind him, so I stand on my toes to peek over his shoulder. "What is it?" 

"There has been a--" he breaks off and looks at me. 

"It's okay, Damien." He nods. "Feyre is not some common court member." 

It occurs to me that I have no clothes on and am staring at three equally disturbed males. "Honey," I breathe in his ear. "I don't think they're worried about that, per say." 

I watch it dawn on Tamlin, and he clears his throat. "Ah--yes. Go back into the tent." 

I obey as the males turn their backs politely. Once the flap shuts, their voices fill the clearing. 

"There has been a direct attack on the northern borders," the first male says. 

"Was it the same group as yesterday," Tamlin questions. I imagine his brow furrowing. 

"Yes. Hundreds of them surprised our camps. Dropped fire bombs. Everyone is either dead or missing." 

"How many dead?" 

"Thousands." 

My stomach flips. Thousands dead in seconds. Who dropped the bombs? Had Azriel found something I hadn't? Pressure slams onto my shoulders; I'd been too busy frolicking to get information. But, of course this was to keep my cover. I reach down the bond and slam into Rhy's walls.  _Battles. An attack on the northern borders. Was this you?_

There's no answer. 

I rummage through some things as Tamlin makes plans to march off as soon as we get back to the manor. I pull on a pink dress, low cut over my breasts, and brush my hair out and quickly braid it. The soldiers leave, and Tamlin strides into the tent. 

"I'm going as soon as we get back." 

"I'm coming with you." 

He looks startled. "No you are not." 

"Yes I am! You told me last night I could sit in on meetings." I hear the shrill notes in my voice, panic for my Court. My mate. 

"These won't be meetings, honey. These will be battles. And the journey is long and hard." 

"I can do it, Tamlin." I cross my arms over my chest and subtly push up my cleavage. His eyes graze it, and for a second I think he'll accept. 

Then, "No. Absolutely not. I'm not having my wife anywhere near these battles. Not when you could be killed. You're too valuable to me, Feyre." 

"Wife?" My voice is strained, now. _Did we get married last night?_  I feel as if I'm falling backwards.  _No. No. I have to go with him to the_ _field_.

In front of me, Tamlin is dropping to one knee, as he's done countless times before since I came back. He takes a ring, the exact twin to the one I'd melted off my finger all those months ago, and holds it out. Tossing his golden hair out of his eyes he says, "Feyre. You know I love you completely and fiercely. Please. Be my wife." 

I rock back on my heels and stumble backwards into a chair. Waves of nausea smack me in the face. Ianthe and Rhys fill my head. "Tamlin--I--" 

I see the warning signs before he explodes this time, but I know better than to shield myself. In seconds the tent and everything in it are rubble. I'm crouched on the floor with my arms over me. The canvas has been shredded, the gilded poles are splintered, and the furniture is mere kindling. The splendid food and goblets and carpets and cushions are reduced to splatters and feathers and thread. Tamlin, still kneeling, his breathing hard. Terrible, wickedly sharp horns curl from his head. Reddish juice drips from his chin and hands. The chair I was sitting in has collapsed, and I feel my own blood soaking through the dress. This hasn't happened before--

I can't see his face. I half wonder if there's madness in his eyes, but the world is growing dim. I hear cold laughter, a whisper at first and then a booming cackle. Amarantha. _No!_ My heart quickens and I feel sweat spark on my lip and scalp. 

Tamlin is standing, face contorted in guilt and anger and surprise. He says something to me. 

I am flat on my back, I realize, and staring up at the forest canopy. Blood is still leaking through my gown. There's something in my side. Someone--Tamlin--is yelling my name. Amarantha's footsteps are on the forest floor, coming closer. 

"You will fail, Feyre Archeron." Visions of membraneous wings pinned to familiar study walls, flapping against their ash wood steaks, fill my head. Rhys and Cassian and Mor and Azriel screaming and cursing and blaming me. Elain and Nesta's bodies on iron pikes on top of castle walls that I've never seen before. Amren back in that prison, hissing in pain as she's swallowed by darkness. "You will fail. You become the whore of every High Lord you meet. Tamlin. Tarquin. Rhysand." 

I can't see her. I can't see her. There's darkness, cold and misty and black. 

I think that I scream, but if feels like I'm under water. I try to keep my powers under control, but suddenly I can't remember where I am. Stone walls rise up around me and I feel the freezing stone floor under my cheek. I roll onto my side, blindly swiping at the hands that grab at me. I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Something deep inside me tells me to stay calm, stay cool. Don't burst into flames. Don't let your claws show. Don't let yourself freeze or glow or turn to darkness. 

But I can't hold on. The world is growing too fuzzy and Amarantha's voice is filling my head. Suddenly it's the Weaver, singing that awful song in her beautiful voice. Then the Attor's leathery skin is choking me. The King of Hybern is next, laughing as he snaps the mating bond into pieces. Rhysand is howling. Now the Bone Carver is flicking bits of bone at me as he carves my face, eyes open wide and mouth stretched in a terrible scream. 

Crushing blackness suffocates me and presses on my sides. The stone walls of my cell inch closer and closer until I can't think of anything but them. 

And then I can't think of anything at all. 


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre dreams of the Night Court reduced to rubble and Amarantha striding arm in arm with the King of Hybern. Jurian is on her other side, his bloody sword resting on his shoulder. Her friends are nowhere to be found. 
> 
> When she wakes up, it's been three days. He couldn't delay going back to the front, so Tamlin sent Lucien to stay at her bedside. The guards around her have been lifted and the High Lady of the Night Court is free to roam where she likes.

The world is made of dust, stone, and death. The sky is flat and blue. Cloudless. A hot wind blows bits of debris by my feet as I continue to stride across the broken cobblestones. I step in a pool of blood and raise my white slipper again, watching the thick liquid drizzle from the sole. The lesser Faerie whose blood stains my shoe gazes at me with frozen eyes of the purest white. Her scales are tan, her thin body crushed, her ears mere holes in the sides of her head. That's where the blood is coming from. 

Ahead, through the swirling dust there are crumbling houses, small orange fires, and more broken bodies. Three shadowy figures emerge. I see the flashing metal of a sword blade balanced on dark fighting leathers. For a second, my heart quickens because there's only one Illyrian who would walk that proudly through a desolate city. 

I start to call out for Cassian, but find that my mouth won't open. Suddenly, I realize that I recognize the female on the right of the figure in the center. 

Blood red hair. Smooth, pale skin. Curved, red lips. Amarantha steps out of the cloud, clad in a curve hugging white dress with a plunging neckline that shows off her generous cleavage. A silver sword dangles from the diamond belt slung over her hips. 

Fear grips my muscles and renders me immobile. Standing in the middle of the cobblestones, the Faerie's blood soaking into my shoes, I watch the trio prowl closer. Now that they are ten feet from me, I can make out the King of Hybern in shining armor and Jurian in dark red, almost black leathers. My legs seem to be planted in cement as I struggle to force my body to flee. 

"Hello, _Feyre_ ,  _darling_ ," Amarantha says, her voice curling from her mouth like smoke. They are maybe two feet from where I stand. She relaxes her wait into her hip, the belt catching the light. "It's been  _so_ long, my dear." 

Tears fill my eyes, roll down my inanimate cheeks. I realize slowly that it's not just fear holding me there. My eyes spring to the king, who smirks back. He waves a hand and I collapse to my knees in the blood and dust. 

"Do look at me when I'm talking to you, Feyre darling." 

The king yanks my head up by my hair with a phantom hand, causing sharp pain to radiate through my skull. I wince, feeling sick at the way my pet name sounds when she says it. 

"How have you been," Amarantha drawls. Her voice is like oil. "I've been simply  _dying_ to see you." She laughs at her own joke, practically cackles. There is shining madness in her eyes. Then she grows annoyed. "Speak when you are spoken to!" 

The king nods, and I gasp. "How--?" But I know how. The Cauldron. The Attor. He must have found a piece of her left, blood or a bone fragment. Something to bring her back.  

Amarantha smiles, her teeth straight and white. "Ah. You are clever, my darling Feyre." 

" _Don't_ call me that!" I feel the old rage begin to replace the fear. I remember the Faeries that I'd murdered to save Tamlin. Rhys's screams as he'd fought for me while I died.  _How dare--_

"And just why not?" Her eyes widen in mock confusion, then her expression clears as she laughs. "Because he did?" 

 _Did?_ I ache to whip around and look for my mate. I reach for the bond, but to my absolute horror there is a pit of emptiness where it should be. My heart sinks to my stomach. 

Amarantha's smile has grown wider, toothier. Like a wild dog. "Your mate. He  _was_ an amazing spy. A good soldier too." 

I try to stand, but the invisible hand crushes me back down.  _Was was was._ The tears are coming faster, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I watch Amarantha's silver heels click closer, reflecting my face and the crimson blood.  _So much blood._ It has soaked into the black gown I'm wearing, climbing slowly towards my throat. 

Amarantha's cold fingers cup my chin and force me to look her in the eye. Madness and power fill them, making them gleam like polished marbles. "What a pretty game you're playing,  _Feyre. Darling._ "

The first thing I see when I sit upright in the bed is red hair, and for a moment I think that I have indeed died. _Red--no auburn hair. Pulled back in a tail_. I follow the peaked hairline down to a scarred face and a metallic eye. 

"Lucien?" 

He straightens in the armchair. "Feyre! Thank the Mother you're alive!" He actually springs to his feet and throws his arms around me. His sword clinks in its leather belt. 

I wince and pull back. There's a clean white bandage wrapped tightly around my side. "What--?"

"Tamlin...Tamlin had an...episode." 

 _An episode._ The memory of the destroyed tent and Tamlin's anger come rushing back into my mind. I settle back against the pillows. "Is that what you call almost blowing up your lover after she refuses to marry you?" 

Lucien looks pained. "Please, Feyre, don't be angry." 

I scowl, "I deserve to be angry, do I not? The guards haven't lessened and every few days, someone decides that one of them has failed their job so they disappear." I cross my arms, wince, and uncross them again. 

He runs a hand over his hair and then pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll admit that most of us have been suspicious of you, myself included. One doesn't simply claw their way out of the High Lord of the Night Court's control---but Tamlin has done away with the guards altogether. You really scared him this time." 

"Really?" I can hardly bring myself to believe that something like this could make him get rid of the troops that have surrounded me since returning. "Where is he? I need to thank him, to speak with him." I start to get out of bed, but Lucien puts a hand up. 

"Stop. He's not here. He left for the north two days ago." 

"What?" The supposed love of his life is half-dead in her chambers and he has the audacity to leave? Disgust pools in my stomach and permeates through my blood stream until I'm sure that my face is contorted with it. 

The pained expression falls back over his face. "Yes. I'm sorry Feyre but they needed him." 

I fall back against the pillows and bite my lip.  _Rhysand would never._ Oh, but he might. He'd protected his people, his court, for fifty years Under the Mountain with Amarantha. He would do it again. Especially if his wife and High Lady was almost dead. He would do everything in this power to save us all, even if it meant sacrificing himself.  _And I would too._

Unable to be fully angry with Tamlin, I look at Lucien. "I understand." 

He breathes a short sigh of relief. "I'll let you rest, and then later today we can go sit on the patio. Maybe you can paint." 

I nod, feigning pleasure and contentment. "Okay. Would you call Alis? I'd like to have a bath." My hair must be greasy enough to fry bacon. 

When I'm comfortably seated in the steaming water, Alis folds her hands in front of her large bosom. "Are you sure that you'll be alright? That's a pretty bad wound." 

"I'll be fine," I nod to her and smile. I realize that I've missed her. When I first came to Prythian she was one of my only friends. "Alis," I say just before the door shuts. She pops her head back in. "I'm sorry for that argument we had." 

Alis bobs her head. "I am too." 

She's the only servant around here that doesn't call me madam. I smile at her again, and she closes the door with a snap.

I'm left alone with the memories of my dream; Amarantha, the King of Hybern, and Jurian. United and ready to strike. The King--I'm assuming he was using the Cauldron's powers to control my body. I chew the corner of my mouth. I would think about Jurian later. But Amarantha. She had been restored to her former awful glory. There had been no sign that she'd even died; her eyes had been full of madness and power lust not frozen the way Jurian's had seemed at the castle. 

I dig my nails into my scalp as I wash my hair. Did my dream mean anything? Should I even keep pondering it? 

_But what if she does come back? She won't even need an Under the Mountain this time---she can just go straight to the Court of Nightmares._

Suddenly Rhysand's voice crashes into my head,  _Feyre! Feyre Feyre!_

My heart pounds.  _Rhys what is it? What's wrong?_

_Oh thank the Mother. You're alive._

Then I realize that he probably felt my pain and anxiety through the bond. I can't imagine what that must be like. To be going through your day and then out of nowhere be doubled over in pain for no apparent reason-- _I'm here. I'm fine._

_All I saw was canvas and fruit and grass and sky, and then a flash of light. And then pain. What happened?_

_He proposed again--and got angry when I started to refuse him._

Blinding rage suddenly makes my head pound and my heart beat in overdrive. Images flash through my head. Rhys's hands gripped on the back of a chair. Fighting leathers on his arms. Mor looking worried. 

_Rhys it's okay. He relaxed the guards. This is a gain for us. I can practically practice magic without sneaking out at night now._

_Be careful Feyre._

_I know. I will be._

_Any new developments?_

_He's headed for the northern border. He left two days ago._

_You mean to tell me that the asshole didn't even stick around to see if you were okay?_

_Rhys. You and I would do the same. This is a war and he's protecting what he thinks is his._

The sickening feeling of jealousy poisons my stomach and makes my neck grow hot. 

_Rhysand you can't possibly think--_

_No I do not._

_Good. Because you are mine. Mine forever._

_Say it again._

I smile to myself.  _Mine. For all of eternity and_ _then some._

A chuckle vibrates down the bond and settles in my chest, making my heart rattle.  _When you get back, I'm totally taking you down to that shop where they sell the little lacy things._

_Red?_

_Most definitely, Feyre darling._

There it is. My nickname. The name that Amarantha called me in my dreams so mockingly, and the name that sounds like bile on Tamlin's lips. It sounds like honey when Rhys says it, like safety. 

 _I have to go,_ he says, already melting away. 

 _No, don't leave!_ Tears spring into my eyes and my longing for him fills the room.  _Please, don't leave me._

He caresses my mental shields,  _Stay strong. We'll be together again._ And then his presence is gone. The bond is still warm in my chest, underneath the emptiness where the bargain was, but it isn't the same. 

I bring my knees to my chest as my heart breaks and push my fists into my eyes. The bathwater has grown ice cold. 


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For two weeks, Feyre spends her days in the library "teaching" herself to read and her nights are filled with her power. Ianthe had been a nuisance, trying to fill Feyre's time with parties and luncheons with the Spring Court's most eligible friends. Lucien is growing more suspicious. 
> 
> One night in Feyre's room however, Ianthe discovers the truth about what Feyre can do after being Made.

 

Ianthe throws open my wardrobe and rips the dresses out, tossing them on the bed with gusto. I sit cross legged on the bed sipping pink champagne. 

"What are we celebrating," she'd asked when I'd requested a bottle. 

"Freedom," I'd said, almost blowing my cover. "From the Night Court and Amarantha. Happily ever afters."  _From guards and Tamlin and keeping my power a secret._ I had spent the last two weeks preforming small feats of magic in the snug library of my wing. It must've belonged to Tamlin's mother; no boy would ever purchase lace curtains or floral rugs. 

And these last two weeks since Tamlin had relaxed the guard, Ianthe and Lucien had been suspicious of every decision I'd made. But this time, Ianthe had simply hurried a young servant Faerie away for the drink.

The half empty bottle sits on my dresser, and Ianthe is red cheeked and bright eyed--a bit tipsy to say the least. Outside the wall of windows, the spring sun is setting over the gardens with its last orange hurrah. Roses bob their heads, bees are drowsily buzzing home, and the birds are singing their farewells. 

"Remember this one?" Ianthe launches a ball of green silk at my head, burps, and then giggles. "You looked  _ravishing_ in it." 

 _Spring court green,_ I think. I run a hand over the smooth fabric, fingering the hem. Yes. I'd worn this the night before my wedding; the night before Rhys rescued me and showed me what I could be if I only fought for it. 

And now here I was, fighting for my life---for their lives. 

I nod, "Yes. I liked that one a lot." 

"You should wear it on your wedding night," Ianthe says, her voice a bit shrill. 

"I did, remember," I smile, hoping she doesn't see the annoyance. 

I'd invited her up to my room so we could go through my "old" dresses and clear out the unfashionable ones. Honestly, I'd ordered the champagne for myself just to get through the evening with her. But I'd only had a glass... 

"No--" she giggles again. "--the new one." 

"What new one?" 

"The one scheduled for next month." 

_Next month, next month, next month._

No. It couldn't be. I hadn't said yes. Tamlin respected my wishes. This wouldn't happen. I could not---would not---wed another male. Not while my mate had breath in his body---and even then. I would never be tied, bound, or chained to another man in my whole life. My felt my eyes growing wide, my face getting hot. 

_Next month next month._

What do I do? What could I do? I have no choice---

Ianthe is looking at me, all merriment gone replaced by fear. "Feyre?" 

 _Good. She should be afraid of me._ I feel like I am going to have another attack. Darkness swirls along the edges of my vision. The glass of wine is scalding hot in my hand, melting. Melting. 

I glance down and find that indeed the wine glass is now liquid, bubbling and coating my hand. The wine spills down my dress, steaming where it hits my body. My whole hand is on fire. The flames are licking up my arm, wrapping around my shoulders, and kissing my earlobes. 

Ianthe screams, and I scream. I'm not supposed to know that I can do that. I jump to my feet and sprint to the bathroom, turning on the tap, and thrusting my arm underneath the cooling water. Smoke curls off of my skin. Melted glass burns and twists the back of my hand. In seconds Ianthe is behind me. I gaze at her in the mirror, her horror the twin of my own. My stomach back flips over my arteries. 

"What--?" I am the first to speak. To open and close my mouth like a fish. 

Ianthe's eyebrows have knitted together as she stares at my reflection. "You--" She clears her throat, eyes flicking to my hand and back to my face. "We need to bring Tamlin back. Right away." 


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin questions Feyre about her growing power and decides to bring her to the front with him to keep her safe.

Tamlin paces in front of his desk, his arms crossed and muscles bulging. His long blond hair is pulled back into a tail with a green velvet ribbon that matches his tunic, however the plain board-sword hanging from his belt tells another story. A stately nobleman and the perfect soldier rolled into one. 

"So explain to me again," he says, stopping and leaning against his desk. "You  _melted_ the glass?" 

I nod, glancing back at Ianthe who is sitting silently in an armchair. "Yes. It ran around my hand." I hold up my bandaged appendage. For appearances. I hadn't been burned at all by my own flames; actually it had just tickled. But if any of the servants saw me with plain hands and heard that I'd burned myself, there would be rumors running rampant. 

Tamlin shuts his eyes. He'd winnowed into the mansion almost three hours after the telegram had left. I guess the young Faerie had used his sprinting abilities to reach his High Lord quickly. "Show me," he says quietly. 

I shake my head, mute. 

"Show me, Feyre," he says, with steely anger rising in his voice. 

My heart thunders in my ears. I could easily snap my fingers and burn his study to the ground. I could winnow away from here. I could wipe their minds and make them forget that I ever existed. 

"I can't. I don't know how I did it." 

"Like with the wind?" 

"Yes. It just happens." 

Tamlin groans, circles around the outside of his desk, and takes a seat heavily. He puts his elbows on the table and cradles his head in his hands. In the silence, birds twitter in the trees as if alarming our enemies of my "new" abilities. Ianthe stands, robes rustling as she steps forward. 

"My Lord, if I may?" With a confirming nod from Tamlin, she continues. "This is a delicate situation, and I think that it should be handled with utmost caution. Feyre's powers are uncontrollable at best, so I think we should discuss methods of containment." 

 _Containment._ They are going to lock me up again in this mansion. I imagine banging on the window and screaming until I am hoarse... again. I imagine wrapping myself in darkness again, but this time until the whole world is filled black night. Thick, cold, and eternal.  _Containment._ I long to reach out for Ianthe and grip her arm tightly as I slowly freeze her. I make a noise in my throat, the sound of a cornered animal ready to fight. Tamlin's eyebrows have risen in surprise.

"The last time I barricaded her inside this house, the High Lord of the Night Court sent Morrigan to steal her." 

At Mor's name Ianthe blanches. She coughs. "My Lord I am only thinking of your safety as well as hers. And the safety of this entire court. What would happen if a certain enemy discovered her fire power? What would happen if _you_ discovered a mere _girl_ had an ounce of your power coursing through her veins?" 

"I would stop at nothing until I killed her," he croaks. Tamlin swallows thickly, eyes grazing me as I stand before him. They are sentencing me to death; eons in this house. I wouldn't be able to help Rhys now. I wouldn't even be able to help myself. 

I reach for Tamlin's shield, feeling the branches give easily as if welcoming my presence. Making sure I remember the way out, I rush in.  _I am Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court. No one can protect Feyre better than I can. She should come with me to the battle field. She can help oversee the troops. It will give her something to do. Something here must have agitated that power--I can see to that later. Feyre needs to get away for a time. A vacation._

He starts trying to think for himself, not realizing that he's pushing back against my power.  _No---Ianthe is right. She needs to be protected in the safe house. It is better for her, and no one knows about it. Peaceful._

I shudder, understanding that no one, not even Mor, could save me from wherever he wanted to keep me. 

_But she broke out last time. She was taken to that awful place. The things she's seen--I almost lost her after Amarantha. Almost lost her again barely three months later--she needs to be with me. Never out of my sight. And I will forbid the wedding until this war is over._

I feel the decision settle and relief flood through him--and me--as I slither back into my own body. An uncomfortable feeling, the feeling that you get when you walk in on someone using the restroom lingers in my stomach. _Liar. Invader._ Ianthe is still talking, but I know for sure that I will be going with him this time. I gaze out of the giant window behind Tamlin's desk, onto the green lawn and luscious rose bushes. The sky blue and dotted with white cotton clouds. I think of the stars in the Night Court and how beautifully clear and crisp they are against the rich black sky. 

"Feyre will come with me to the front." Tamlin stands and crosses his arms behind his back. 

I throw on a mask of surprise, apprehension, and delight as I say, "Really?" 

"You'll be the safest with me. I'm never going to be separated from you again." 

I smile from ear to ear, letting a few tears happy leak out of my eyes. I restrain myself from kissing him as I bow. _I bow to no one and nothing but my crown._  I push away the memory as I stand. I'm a spy not a consort. I don't have the luxury of using my real title. "Thank you," I manage. 

Ianthe watches us both, openly gaping in a way I've never seen her do. I see a look pass between them...familiar and ancient. I make a mental note to ask someone about it when this is all over. But for now I pass the news along to Rhys and return to my chambers to prepare for the battle field. 

"Alis," I say as I enter. "Which dress would be best for fighting?" 


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin needs to finish some paper work before he goes back to war. He lets Feyre go to his room as he makes preparations. There she discovers something awful.

My dress is iridescent in the light of thousands of candles. My hair is braided and wound around my head like a crown studded with pearls. Pearls dangle from my earlobes on the end of thin golden chains, and around my neck is a braided chain of pearls and diamonds. Like a beautiful collar. 

Tamlin is at the head of the table, presiding over his guests, while I stand on the side with a glass of champagne. This party is more for him than it is for me. He announced to the good people of his court yesterday that he would be moving permanently to the battle field while the war carried on. This is odd--usually High Lords barely check up on their soldiers because they leave their sons in charge. They prefer to wage wars from the comforts of their own desks. Because Tamlin has no sons, he has to do everything himself. I can feel the weight of the responsibility resting on his shoulders slowly breaking him every time I've slipped past his mental shields.  _He didn't want this._

The fact that he is bringing me with him---now that is a different matter. 

All night I've been bearing the burden of gracious, happy yet melancholy host. I've been ignoring stormy or funny looks from the faeries attending the gathering. Now that the meal has begun, I find myself glancing around for Celeste. She's told me before that waiting on the different High Fae Tamlin keeps lodged in the mansion tires her because they're all so prejudice. Though Celeste looks like them and talks like them, they decide to bar her entry into their lovely lives because she's only a servant. 

 _My mate will change all of that in Velaris,_ I think to myself as my eyes graze the banquet table. 

"Not hungry?" 

I turn to find Lucien standing next to me, arms crossed behind his back with his metallic eye fixed on the party goers. He looks nice tonight; a simple black suit with a pastel pink silk tie.  

"Not one bit," I tell him. 

Lucien's gaze flicks to me. "Are you nervous?" 

"Should I be?" I fix him in my innocent stare until he looks down at his handsome leather shoes. 

"Perhaps. If you weren't Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker, Made Under the Mountain." 

I roll my eyes at the cumbersome title though it gives me a twinge of pride to hear him say it. My friend. I remember when I first slipped behind his mental shields and the terrible longing and guilt and sadness I felt dragging my heart down into a bottomless pit.

I reach out and touch his arm at the thought. "I'll never be anxious with you around, my friend." 

His eyes flash, something like pain and surprise mixed together. He looks as if he's working up the courage to ask me something when three ladies dressed in gold, lavender, and pink strut closer. They exchange a few well wishes with me while the fox showers them with compliments and smiles. After they leave, Ianthe appears at my side. 

"My Lady you should eat something. You have a hard journey tomorrow." 

I restrain myself from smacking her simpering face.

I'm trying to think of a neutral response when Lucien says, "I amso sorry to hear that Tamlin did not think to bring you along,  _priestess."_ He spits the title at her as if it's an undercooked piece of food.  

Ianthe blinks and plasters on a smile with ice buried in the center. "He thinks that I can better serve our great cause here in my temple. Someone needs to beseech the Mother for your good fortune and safety on the battle field." 

"Yes," he says curtly. 

As the High priestess saunters away, I glance at Lucien. "Remind me what she did to get on your bad side?" 

It's a joke--but only partly. Lucien's metallic eye whirs as he stares at her disappearing back, "Many things. She dipped my mate in the Cauldron. Betrayed my friend. Those are the more recent irks." Without so much as a glance, he vanishes into the swirl of jewels and silk that is slowly becoming a dance floor, leaving me with my mouth open in a surprised O. 

After three waltzes with Tamlin and a couple of fast dances with Lords from around the court, I excuse myself. 

"Use my room tonight," he whispers. "I'll be up later." 

I'm shocked by his request, and as I climb the stairs I find myself wondering if I'll have to sleep in my ballgown all night. _Tamlin's room means Tamlin's secrets._ My heart begins to thunder in my chest. I have unlimited access now. I hurry along, raising my skirts until my entire leg is exposed. I practically sprint down the winding hallways, past fancy drapes and three-thousand year old art pieces until I near the end of a grand corridor. 

Rooms line the hall, some doors open and some locked. I suppose that this is where most of his guests stay; I never see them in my wing. The door at the end of the hall has to be his; it's the most extravagant. There are two, both adorned with golden lions' heads for door knobs and is made entirely out of thick, almost black, wood. Just pulling them open is like rolling away a stone. I find myself admiring the carvings of roses that curl artfully up the edges. 

Inside there is an ornate four poster bed in the center draped with red cloth and tassels on a sort of dais with three steps leading up to it on all sides. There is a sitting area with chairs made with the same material, the wood painted gold. A dressing table stands along one wall, there is a giant golden clawfoot tub in an alcove surrounded by mirrors, and a huge wardrobe on the opposite side. Rich dark wood makes up the floor and on the ceiling---

Expecting to find more mirrors, I tilt my head back. What I see makes my head spin and my knees buckle. 

I crash to the ground, hissing in pain as my bone comes in contact with the hardwood. My eyes are glued upwards to the awful sight--

I would know those membraneous wings anywhere. Black, boney, strong. A claw at every apex. If you hold them up to the sun then they turn an odd dark pink. If you trace your finger down the inside---I feel silent sobs wrack my body.  _They're his they have to be. No male's wings could be so familiar._

I notice how clean the spots where they attach to the shoulders are. Then I remember. 

_No. No._

_I'm surprised you didn't see them pinned in the study._

His mother and sister's wings hang above me, stretched wide as if floating on phantom winds. If I dare to stretch out beneath them, it would look like I too have wings. I feel myself convulse as I throw up. Vomit dribbles down my chin and the stench makes me convulse again. 

I tilt my head back, this time noticing that the ceiling is painted light blue and speckled with swirling clouds. I dry heave. 

Tears mix with the vomit. I feel myself try to scream, but I clamp my mouth shut. Behind me fabric rustles on the marble floor of the hall. 

"Feyre!" It's a quiet and horrified shout. 

I feel warm hands gripping my shoulders and turn to find Alis gazing down at me. Her eyes are wide, filled with tears. I press my face into her collar bone, feeling it dig into my forehead and wishing it would just slice right through. Anything to get the image of my mate's family's wings suspended in never ending flight. I shake and sob, my voice muffled by Alis. My friend. My only ally in the early days when I was still human. 

"They're---they're---" I realize that I'm pointing up at them. 

She pets my hair gently. "Yes. They're his familys'." 

"They're---" 

"Yes." 

I pull back and look her in the face. Her features seem older, almost as if she'd aged a millennia since I saw her this morning. 

"How long have you known," I whisper, afraid of the answer. Afraid of where her loyalties lie. 

She understands. "Since the fight in the bathroom."

I nod, pushing my hand over my sweaty forehead to wipe away the moisture. "And?" 

She pulls me into another crushing hug. "Kick ass." 

I feel myself begin to cry again. I ball her shirt into my hands as I do, and feel her pick me up with a grunt. Carefully, she sits me on the bed. She scoops up the discarded clothes with another grunt and helps me dress for bed. She wipes the ruined makeup and sweat away, brushing my hair the way my mother never did and humming. 

I know that I have to stay in here. I have to act like I don't know what animal those monstrous things were sawed off of. I push away the image of Rhy's being pinned next to them one day. 

I catch her hand as she begins to walk away. "Alis?"

The female looks at me with heartbreaking tenderness. "Feyre?" 

"Thank you. For--everything." 

She nods curtly, clearing her throat. "I'll take care of Celeste." 

I chew my lip. "When this is all over...I'd like to have a picnic with your boys sometime." 

She smiles sadly, "It's a date." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I have a question to ask, if that's okay. Please comment your answers down below. 
> 
> If I don't finish this exactly on May 2 would you still continue to read it? I have everything mapped out, I just need to find the time to spin the story. 
> 
> Please please comment yes or no. I won't take offense to any "no" because I understand that ACOWAR will be giving us new information and plot lines. Of course I would love you all to stick with me, but I understand. 
> 
> Thanks so much! :D 
> 
> Xx. Magikenz


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only her first day in the camp, and Feyre has found out something huge!

_So this is what you were hiding,_ I think as I dress the next morning. The wings are still pinned above me on the light blue painted sky. _The mutilated pieces of your best friend's family._

I can't tell Rhys about this. Not through the bond when I'm on the other side of Prythian. No, this has to be in person. 

Alis braids my hair back from my face and secures it, leaving supple curls around my neck and shoulders. I dare to peek at her in the mirror, but her face is calm. It shows nothing of the developments that took place last night. 

 _Kick ass,_ she'd said. 

She'd known that I was a traitor to her High Lord all along, but still let me in bed with him. Let me sneak around playing games. 

 _Please--Please take care of her,_ she'd said to Mor the day I'd been rescued. When I'd heard it I had been going crazy, the first attack of many. I had barely remembered it afterwards, but now sitting in front of her--

I wish that I could reach into her mind and say thank you again. For letting Mor take me. For always wanting me to be safe. Like the mother I never had, wanted, or needed until now. But that might jeopardize my mission, because maybe she doesn't fully trust me. Maybe she is waiting until I let my guard down. Maybe she is a spy, too. 

We say our goodbyes to everyone in the foyer and ride our horses hard for five miles. It is ridiculous to me to be a Faerie on the back of an animal that runs so much slower than I can  _walk_. The trees here are far apart, any wild underbrush has been cleared and the forest floor now carpeted with moss and leaves. The sun overhead is bright white this morning, making the mist shimmer as it writhes through the forest. 

"How are you feeling," Tamlin asks, drawing his stallion back to ride beside me. He looks dashing in a blue velvet tunic. 

I flash him a brave smile. "Queasy." Alis had told him that I'd gotten a little food poisoning at the party. "I should be alright this afternoon." 

He matches my smile. "I'm glad you're here, love." 

I try not to cringe. "Thank you for finally allowing me to come." 

He speeds up a little to trot with one of his nobles who advises him during the battles. Lucien's horse falls into step with mine. 

"Why do we have horses? I thought Faeries could walk faster than this in their sleep." 

Lucien snorts, metallic eye scanning the tree trunks for threats. "We can't all be savages. It's bad for appearances." 

I frown, looking down at the back of my horse's neck. We canter along the smooth path for what seems like hours; the forest grows dark as the trees get closer together. The undergrowth has come back at full force, briars and leaves driving out any peaceful flowers that dare to grow here. Looking up, I notice that even the branches seem to melt together into one black canopy. 

I glance at Lucien's shaded face, suddenly panicked.  _What if they'd found out about me? What if Alis had betrayed me?_ I force my breath to stay even, my face to remain calm even as I try to scout my way out. They might kill me. Here, now, in the darkness of the forest. I almost jerk on the bond when I notice that we've stopped. 

Tamlin gets easily down from his stallion and comes back to lift me gently off. As soon as my feet touch the mossy ground, I stiffen. Lucien has dismounted as well. I scan them for knives, ropes, ash arrows--anything that could hurt me. I haul my mental walls firmly up and reinforce them, ready for torture. 

"Feyre?" 

Tamlin has a hand on my lower back, such a gentlemanly gesture for one leading their lover to slaughter. 

"It's so dark," I stammer, trying to blame this stall on anything--everything. I can't let them know I've figured out their plan--

He smiles tenderly as the heat from his hand sears my spine. "Come on. Walk to the center with me." 

I force my leaden legs to move and stalk along with him. Lucien follows. 

"We'll send for the luggage," Tamlin says to the guards who stand by mules laden with our bags. They nod, and the world folds in on itself. 

Winnowing with Tamlin is different than winnowing with Rhys. Instead of pitch black, swirling winds, and thunder there is the scent of freshly cut grass, humid air, and birds chirping. It's an odd sensation to say the least, but in seconds it's over and I'm standing on a hill facing a little valley. A ginormous tent stands behind us.

White canvas tents dot the area like clouds on a strange green sky. Males wheel from tent to tent, cooking and laughing. There's someone playing a flute to my left and someone playing an accordion to my right. A low wall of stacked stones fences in the soldiers, and I can see magic shimmering in the air above it. Wards and walls. It occurs to me that we might still be in the darkened clearing...just behind a kind of smoke screen. The soldiers either spot Tamlin or sense him almost immediately. The music falls silent as everyone raises their fist and claps it over their heart with a sound thunk. Even Lucien participates.

Tamlin salutes back, wearing the mask of a commanding High Lord and not the young man from the woods I saw moments ago. "At ease, gentlemen," he shouts. 

When the music starts up again, a willowy young faerie sprints out of the crowd carrying a huge stack of papers. They flap as he runs up the hill. Falling on his knees he offers the papers to Tamlin. "My Lord! These came just before you arrived. We had no time to forward them."

Lucien takes the papers from the young boy as Tamlin dismisses him. I follow them into our sprawling tent. 

The main part of the tent is an octagon; there is a seating area in the center around a large fire pit. A kitchen is in an alcove straight back from the main entrance. To the right there is another alcove with a large bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table inside. To the left there is a smaller but equally plush room outfitted with a bed, wardrobe, and dressing table as well. Sprouting out of both of these there is a bathroom with a clawfoot tub big enough to be a small rowboat. 

"It's--extravagant," I murmur. 

"Only the best for you," Tamlin says, tweaking my ear. He settles at the head of a long table with a map printed upon it. 

I quickly scan the Night Court territory and am relieved to find that they know almost nothing about it. "Is that it," I ask, pointing to it. 

Tamlin nods gravely as Lucien settles the stack of reports in front of him. "Yes. No one has been across those borders in---well, it's been so long I've forgotten!" He looks up at me. "It's a miracle and a blessing from the Cauldron that you came out again." 

I blush under his gaze, coming closer and leaning down to peck his cheek. Then I slide onto his lap and straddle him, my back to the table. 

"I'm hot," I whisper. 

Tamlin growls, eyes trailing down the stiff riding habit that I'm wearing. His lips part. 

Lucien clears his throat, "Tam? Um. Maybe you should get to those reports." 

I pretend to pout, looking at them through my lashes. But Tamlin sighs and makes me stand. 

"Fine," I say, sauntering over to the wardrobe. "I'll change without your help." I can see Lucien turning red in the mirror embedded in the wardrobe's door. I jerk it open and yank out the first thing I can find. It's a gray tunic. I drop my clothes and pull the fabric over my head, letting it drop. It covers almost my entire body; the hem is halfway down my thigh. 

"How do I look," I ask Lucien, running a finger along the unbuttoned V-neck.  

Lucien looks from Tamlin to me before shaking his head. Tamlin beckons to me in the mirror, so I walk closer and lean down to put my elbows on the table. The emissary doesn't dare look as his High Lord buttons his own tunic over his lover's chest. I smirk as I think of something snarky to say, but when I look at him, Tamlin's expression makes my breath catch in my throat. 

He leaps out of his chair, sending it crashing backwards into the canvas wall. "I ought to kill that simpering fool for handing me these reports so casually!" He storms around the room, his face a molten mask of fury and concern. He recklessly knocks over a delicate vase and watches it shatter on the hard ground. 

Lucien's eyes glance over the piece of paper Tamlin had read before he gulps and snatches it up. His face says it all. 

 _I need to see that paper._ Something detrimental had to have happened to their forces. To someone---I push away the thought that the King of Hybern is dead. It would be too good to be true. 

"What is it," I ask hoarsely, a hand flying to my throat. 

Lucien shakes his head, his auburn tail flicking back and forth. "Tamlin, you need to calm down." 

The High Lord is pacing back and forth, clawing at his unbound hair in angst. "How can I calm down? You know what will happen if--" They both look at me. 

I take the cue and grab my leggings before backing out of the tent. Tiptoeing, I hurry to the back and throw myself on my hands and knees with my ear pressed to the canvas. Their voices are too muffled for me to make anything out--it must be a ward. Something to sound proof the High Lord's tent. 

Mustering what courage I still have, I dare to reach for Lucien's mind. I can't have Tamlin recognizing my presence. I hit Lucien's mental shields; they're only partly formed, made out of autumn wind and rain. I slip in easily and find myself blinking at Tamlin from ancient eyes. The metallic one feels leaden in my skull. 

"Are we sure this isn't a mistake? They can't just be dead!" I--Lucien--looks back down at the paper.  **MQs killed by SC.** It's splattered with blood, and the black ink has run all over the page. 

_Summer Court. It can't be Spring._

"They can and are. That came from one of my best spies. She would never alarm me like this if it wasn't a concrete fact."

 _She._ My mind bounces to Alis, but that doesn't fit. She doesn't have enough clearance.  _Who is dead? Who is the spy?_

"I assume you're talking about that priestess," Lucien says. Malice has crept into his voice at the mere thought of her. 

Tamil's eyes flash but he doesn't deny it. Instead he sinks into the chair and puts his head in his hands. "With the mortal queens left, all I have is Ianthe and her network of human spies." 

 _All five? Dead? And the Children of the Blest? Spies?_ My world spins but I work to keep my body on its knees and to stay inside Lucien's head. 

"Are you sure you shouldn't just cut your losses?" 

Tamlin shrugs. "I have to telegram the king first with the news. I'll act on his orders as usual." 

Lucien grimaces, metallic eye narrowing on his High Lord, but he doesn't say anything. I'm surprised as thoughts of Feyre--of me--flit through my mind. "Are you going to tell Feyre?" 

"Of course not," Tamlin scoffs. "It wasn't easy to bring her here. There's no way I'm letting her know that her home is under siege." 

Lucien nods, curtly saluting Tamlin before disappearing into his own chamber. 

I draw myself out, spooling back into my own body. Then I tug on the bond as I listen to the wild flute music drifting over the camp. An idea pops into my head even as I think: 

_Rhys! The mortal queens are dead! Did you know this? Why didn't you tell me! Also Ianthe has spies in the mortal realm. Children of the Blest. Tell Azriel to be careful._

When I'm finished, I stand up and pull my carefully braided hair until it looks tousled. Then I smack my cheeks and throw on the biggest, out of breath grin I can. 

"Tam! You just have to come dancing," I shout before going back inside the tent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented! I will try to have it all finished by May 2!!


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre discovers that she can do amazing things with her power over the Book. But will she get the chance to?

Two weeks go by, and in them I help Tamlin make some disastrous choices.

I convinced him to attack the Summer Court at sea. It took quite some mental shield stroking, and I'm not proud at how deep I had to go but it was victorious. The battle went terribly and almost all of our navy was destroyed. Afterwards, I had to fight hard to keep from succumbing to my guilt. 

 _It's okay that you feel that way,_ Rhys told me.  _That means you have a sound heart._

After that first blunder, I continued to string him down a dangerous path. I kept him up at night. I convinced him to dismiss two of his greatest advisors because they _could've_ been compromised. 

Now, two weeks later, I sit in the clawfoot tub with my knees to my chest. I've just had my third mini panic attack of the week. I can't let Tamlin see, or he'll send me back to that manor--or worse to the safe house Ianthe was talking about. Instead, I focus on my breathing and ignore how cold the water has gotten. Outside, there is a celebration going on. A small victory for the Spring Court, but a good one. They discovered a camp of Summer Courters near the border and have taken them back to wherever for questioning. Even Lucien offered a tentative smile to his High Lord as a goblet was passed around. 

When my breathing slows, I dare to raise myself out of the tub and towel my skin off. I need to do some sleuthing while Tam and Lucien are still celebrating. I'd complained of a headache all day in order to steal this time for myself. 

I dress in a lacy little night gown and tiptoe into the darkened tent. I close my eyes and breathe quietly, making sure that my heart rate is still slow. Somewhere in the distance I hear loud guffawing. I summon a flame on the end of my pointer finger and hold it up to the shelves. Tamlin had added these after I'd complained of being bored for three days solid. I smirk to myself as I survey the titles. I'd convinced the young, probably ten-year-old, messenger who took my note to Alis to give it to her and her only. I told him it was a very big deal to Lord Tamlin that it got straight to her. And it is...

My eyes spot it finally, a pink spine with black writing. I smile and lift it carefully off the shelf, sinking down to the floor to read. I'd found it weeks ago while I was practicing magic in the library at night. My eyes skim the pages hungrily. 

It's a research book that tells of the powers of the Cauldron. I'm assuming that it used to be some sort of history text book to Tamlin, something that his tutors taught him about but never elaborated on. 

Thoughts of Cassian's ruined wings had been plaguing me all day. They would never be good enough to fly again after what happened to him at Hybern. But maybe-

It's a crazy thought, I know, but still--

I read a few chapters, almost falling asleep at the long winded nature of the author. Outside, the revelers continue to sing and dance and shout. Fires turn the tent walls yellow.

Finally as I hear the last strains of music being played I find it. The chart. 

_Healing properties. The Cauldron can heal any wound or sickness as long as it is wielded correctly by someone who has power over the Book._

I feel sweat pricking at my scalp as the back of my neck heats up. Me. Only I can do it. Only I can fix them. That means I have to go near that Cauldron again. Hold that mad, chattering book. Another stone slides down my throat and plunks into my stomach. 

_We have to win the war. For the sake of Prythian, and for Cassian, too._

My eyes flit over the rest of the page as if seeking water in a dessert and fall on a curious footnote at the bottom. 

_The Cauldron is a dangerous yet wonderful creation. It can bring the dead to life. It can even teleport creatures between worlds. When used with the Book and by someone who has power over both, the Cauldron can tear open a portal--_

I don't finish the page because the tent flap snaps open and Lucien comes stumbling in. I stand silently, hoping he doesn't see me, and let my flame die. 

But that metal eye--

"Feyre!" He draws out the syllables of my name. His auburn hair hangs oddly around his face as he struggles to focus on me. 

"Yes, Lucien how was the party?" 

"I've been meaning to ask you," he exclaims, ignoring the question entirely. "What's that on your arm?" 

I glance down at my bare arms. "What?" 

"You know--that." He points at my right hand and I feel my body stiffen. He taps his metallic eye as it twists in his skull. "This can see through everything, you know!" 

I force a laugh. "You're drunk, my friend." _He knows. He can see the tattoo. The glamour isn't working._ I cross the floor and take his arm, leading him into his room. 

He plops down on the bed. Moonlight illuminates his sun kissed skin as he pouts. "I'm not  _that_ drunk." 

"Tipsy, then." 

He grips my shoulders as I try to leave. "Feyre!" His breath stinks. 

"Yes?" 

"I like being your friend." He smiles happily and lets himself fall back on his bed. 

I laugh outright. "Goodnight." 

"Night!" 

I dash back into the octagon room and shove the book back on the shelf, making sure that the cover is on safely.  _Flowers and fragrances,_ it reads. As I clamber into bed, I think about the last passage. 

_I can free Amren. I can send her home._

At dawn I'm awoken by a loud boom. Dust fills the air. Something is burning. Soldiers are shouting and screaming. Tamlin is gone. I try to sit up but realize that I'm pinned down by the heavy canvas.  _Trapped. Trapped._

 _What is happening? What is--_ and everything goes silent. 


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of a siege, Feyre discovers another bit of helpful information...

The ringing in my ears tells me that I'm not dead--that the entire camp is not dead. I struggle to move my arms and legs, feeling pins and needles in my fingertips. My heart is pounding. Somewhere far off there's an explosion just like the one that woke me up. I fight against the canvas, sweat already pooling in my palms and dripping off my neck. If I don't get free then I could cook in here. 

Finally, I growl and feel claws slice out of my knuckles. Within seconds, I've sliced through the fabric and rolled onto the ground. The grass feels dry against my bare knees. 

Looking up, I see that the wards protecting the camp are glittering as they try to shield us against the attackers. Another shell explodes twenty feet to my right, knocking me onto my side. I wince in pain, hoping fleetingly that the slight crack in my side is not a rib. My immortal healing abilities should take care of that--

_Where are they coming from? Where?_

I look up again and spot a hole about the size of a dinner plate in the very top of the forcefield. There are winged creatures flying back and forth with large cylinders in their hands.  _Illyrians._

A part of me wants one of them to be Rhys or Cassian or Azriel. I want them to fold their wings and dive through the hole, sweeping me into their arms, and carrying me off to Velaris. I can almost taste the sea, smell the citrus. But they don't. And I have more work to do here. 

I lower my gaze and look for Tamlin or Lucien. The sky is the color of blood; the stars are tiny white pinpricks in the dark red dome. 

"Tamlin!" I start screaming. "Lucien!" I don't try to stand, afraid that another shell will knock me off my feet. I cough as dust fills my nose and coats my tongue. The ringing hasn't stopped. 

Crawling on my hands and knees, I make my way to the only tent left standing in the center of the valley. Soldiers are shouting as they aim crossbows at the rip in the wards. Halfway down the hill, my hand hits something squishy and cool. In the dying embers of a camp fire I see my first body. The smell brings tears to my eyes. That's when I notice the others. What I'd thought were huge rocks are actually the bodies of soldiers sprawled over the hillside and the rest of the valley. Flickering star and firelight illuminates them all, making the blood leaking from their mouths look like black oil. Their eyes are open, staring at the sky blankly, and their lips are parted in their last sighs. Or chokes. Or screams. 

With my stomach rolling and tears falling fast, I try to stand on wobbly legs. I have to get away. I stagger down the hill, legs shaking and side hurting as if someone is holding a hot fire poker to it.

I trip over a body and slam back into the ground, crying out in pain. 

Lying there with my face in the dirt is when I hear something moan. I turn my head sideways, body still flat against the grass, and see a young faerie. It's the same body who'd given my note to Alis requesting the book about the Cauldron. He is gasping for air, his chest crushed and hair matted with sweat. 

I struggle over to him as more shells explode around us. In the deafening roar, I hear his wheezing as he tries to breathe. His hands are dirty, stained red, and balled into fists. His eyes, already glazing, focus on mine. 

"Lady--" he gasps. He chokes, wheezes, coughs, and gasps again. 

I shake my head and start to tell him not to talk. 

"Lady--I have--" but then he's dead. His mouth is frozen with whatever he was trying to say. 

I hold his little fist, pulling it gently into my lap. The world continues to explode and burn--as it should when this child has just died. Died for a cause that he probably knew nothing about. I feel more tears coming now, hot and quick. I scream, but over the ringing of my ears it sounds like I'm underwater. Out here in this sea of bodies, no one will hear me. 

I rub my thumb over his, like I used to do to Elain to calm her down during thunderstorms.  _I hope she's far away from blood and battles. I hope she never has to see this._

It occurs to me that I should get moving. Another shell lands close, splattering soldiers' blood all over me. My nightgown is soaked in it. Faerie blood. Just like that night Under the Mountain. I am again drenched in the essence of the very people I am trying to save. 

Something different then skin brushes against the pad of my thumb. I wince and bring it to my mouth.  _Paper cut. In a time like--_ My heart begins to thud faster as I work to uncurl his fist. I almost sob when I have to break two fingers, but in the light of the explosions I can see paper. I tear it out of his grip, crumpled and bloody. The ink is smudged. I can't read it in the dim light. 

Looking around to make sure Tamlin or Lucien haven't started searching for me yet, I light my index finger and scan the scrap of paper. 

 ** _Cauldron--move--_** and then a string of numbers.  _Coordinates._

A strange glee fills my chest. Hybern has moved the cauldron out of his castle. He was trying to tell Tamlin. I smile as I quickly memorize the numbers before lighting the paper on fire. I scatter the ashes as another shell explodes. 

It's time to move. I nod goodbye to the dead boy who gave me the biggest break in my mission so far before crawling away towards the still standing tent. I hear people shouting my name. I hear another shell go off. 

_I can fix Amren. I can fix Cassian. We have to win this war._

Another shell goes off next to me. Too close. 

I'm thrown sideways as orange fire singes my face and hair. I land on my back, the breath knocked out of my lungs. Something is bleeding. My side, halfway mended, is hurting again.  _Definitely a broken rib._

The stars, the flying Illyrians, the shimmering forcefield--they swim around and jumble in my head as if the earth has suddenly become a giant tilt-a-whirl. I gasp for air and warm darkness begins to close in on the sides of my vision. The dead boy's face, smudged with dirt and blood, smothers me as I slip away. 


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre attends her first battle against Tamlin's wishes and is sent home to the Spring Court.

Our new camp is miles from the old one in a part of the forest that looks like it hasn't been visited since the First War. We are staying in a stone house with two floors and a bunker underneath. For weeks Tamlin makes us sleep there like rats. 

He calls for a draft of 10,000 more men from home but I know that this is taxing. He is slowly running out of soldiers. He rages against Hybern when he gets drunk... which happens a lot now. I try to stay clear of him, but still manage guide him in the wrong direction. We don't talk about how I almost bled out during that last attack. Tamlin doesn't know that the cauldron has been moved. 

Lucien stays with me most of the time. I paint the young boy's face over and over again. It's the first time I've painted in the Spring Court since Amarantha, the first time I've painted at all since the cabin. I come in one night to find the three canvasses burning in our fireplace. Tamlin is asleep before it with a drink in his hand. I don't mention it. 

I haven't been in touch with Rhys since I woke up from that faint. I quickly told him the news and the coordinates before we broke communication. 

The last thing he'd said was  _Soon, Feyre darling._

I wake up almost two months after the attack, jolted upright in the bed by a nightmare. Tamlin's side of the bed is cold. I strain my ears but there are no sounds of explosions. No smoke. Carefully, I swing my legs out of bed and slip my feet into a pair of slippers. Since the attack I have started dressing immediately after waking up. Just so I'm not found in a blood soaked nightgown sprawled amongst bodies.

I jerk one of Tamlin's tunics on over my head and pull on the leggings I had Alis send me, not bothering to take off the slippers. My boots will be down by the fire, drying from yesterday's rain. 

I pause on the landing, listening to male voices below. 

"We'll move out early. Take Feyre back to the house and then join us on the ridge. It's in the paper I gave you," that's Tamlin. 

"My Lord, should she not be with us? Surely it is safer by your side." An advisor I don't know. Because of the last attack, Tamlin rotates his team every two weeks.

Tamlin's expression must have been absolutely ghastly in the firelight because the faerie clears his throat. From my position, I see him bow and back away from his High Lord's shadow. 

I slither forward and hold onto the railing, gazing down on them. Tamlin has settled in an plush chair with his elbows balanced on the arms. 

"Do not question my decisions," he growls menacingly. "I am High Lord." 

"Of course, sir." 

I slowly stand and go back into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly. I undress quickly in case Tamlin has smelled me or heard me moving around, and climb back into bed. 

_They're going to leave me in the care of a male I don't know._

Minutes later I hear the front door shut and Tamlin's heavy steps on the stairs. He must have dismissed the advisor for tonight. 

I pretend to be asleep as he comes in, but I track his every move as he undresses and slides under the covers next to me. He presses his lips sloppily on my cheek and then rolls over. In seconds, he's breathing heavily. 

_They're going to abandon me. I'm going to be locked in that mansion with Ianthe._

I stifle an angry scream as I keep my breathing even. I stare up into the darkness and make my decision. I am definitely going.

Early the next morning, just before dawn, I hear Tamlin get up and make his way around the room. His armor will be waiting downstairs, I know. I slip past those familiar thorns and extract the location. 

 _A battle. A plateau,_ I think. I just don't know with whom. 

As soon as the door shuts, my eyes pop open and flick to the wardrobe. I need to be wearing male clothing. I need to have it with me. I get out of bed and throw the leggings, one of Tamlin's tunics, and a pair of black shoes into a bundle. I secure it with a chain from one of my necklaces and then slide it to the bottom of the wardrobe. 

For hours I sit in bed, waiting for them to leave. I watch the sky turn gold and then blue through the window. I hear Lucien's door open and close across the hall. 

Finally, everything goes silent. I get up and tug on a lacy robe, messing up my hair and pinching my cheeks. Then I go down stairs with a calm smile on my face. I drop it as soon as my eyes land on the advisor. 

He's a tall male with black hair and unearthly white eyes. His skin is tanned, his teeth white in his smile, and his ears delicately pointed just like mine. His crimson tunic and black pants make him look like a burning piece of charcoal. "Hello, Lady Feyre. I am Charles, I'm sure you remember." 

I don't but I smile anyway. "Oh yes. Where is Tamlin?" 

"Lord Tamlin had to leave quickly, madam." 

"Oh?" 

"Yes," he bobs his head. His eyes look to the left as if spying something out the window. I pretend not to notice. "He has charged me with taking you to safety." 

I raise my eyebrows, letting a bit of fury show. "Safety? I was in his company! How much safer can I get?" 

Charles clears his throat anxiously. "I am sorry, madam, but these are his orders. Please, pack your things. I'll make sure we are home by lunch." 

"Is this what _you_ would do with _your_ future wife, Charles," I spit. I turn on my heel and stalk up the stairs. I snatch up a satchel and toss my little bundle in along with a few trinkets. I even add a romance novel. 

When I join him downstairs, Charles looks much more uncomfortable. I try to smile, as if I want to smooth things over.

"I am sorry for my outburst, sir," I say lightly.

He looks relieved, but his eyes are still anxious as he offers me his arm.

Together we step out of the house and wander down the path to where the horses are kept. It's a garish morning; the spring sun is bright yellow, the grass is neon green, and the breeze smells of flowers. Bees are droning from flat flower to fat flower. Birds are already screeching. 

"Lovely day," Charles says. 

"Yes," I agree. 

A strained silence follows. We mount our horses and canter into the woods, riding for about an hour. That's when I attack. 

I throw a gust of wind at him, knocking him off his horse. The animal speeds away into the forest. I leap off of mine and land neatly as if I'd been doing this all of my life. It follows its friend. Charles is trying to get up, but I force him down as I reach out with Rhy's power. 

"What are you," he stammers. 

I just smile, cruel and cold. My new mask. It fits well. I can feel his whole body yield to me just as mine yielded to Rhys that day in the library. One thought and he would die. One thought and I could wipe his entire being off the map and turn him into a vegetable. 

I lean down close as his eyes move back and forth, looking in vain for an exit. "I am High Lady of the Night Court," I whisper in his ears. Then I wipe that memory followed by our leaving the camp together away. I mold and shift the past until he fully believes that we got separated in the woods because my horse was spooked. When my work is done, I break his leg and force him to pass out. 

I stand straight and back away, guilt clawing at my throat. He will unwittingly face Tamlin's wrath and fully believe that I had done nothing wrong. This is barbaric.  _This is necessary,_ I tell myself.  _For Amren. Cassian. Mor. Nesta. Elain. Azriel. Rhysand. Alis._

Then I winnow straight into the battle field. 

There are cannon blasts, metal clanging upon metal, and shouts ringing out all over the grassy plateau. The smell of death, sweat, and blood saturates the air. I throw myself on my stomach as a cannon ball whisks over my head. Arrows whistle by. I try to think. I need to get to Lucien or Tamlin. I need to figure out how I can "help". 

 _No--_ _they would just winnow me home._

I need to sabotage this battle. I need to help--I raise up onto my elbows and look across the expanse of bodies, soldiers, and explosions. Blue and white uniforms. That could only be Winter. 

I close my eyes for a moment, imagining that I am a young male faerie. I imagine that I would have white spiked hair and cold grey eyes. Pale, frosty skin. I would be as willowy and tall. Dressed in an icy blue uniform. I feel my body shift and change...

I have everything I wanted except a--"uniform." I cringe, staring at my body. Then I glance around for a fallen soldier. I winnow to a body, steal its clothes, and then drag it towards a supplies wagon that has been set on fire. I sling my satchel across my body. 

 _This is necessary,_ I tell myself as I sprint forward, draw my weapon, and plunge it into the back of the nearest Spring Court soldier. I feel him die as blood covers my uniform. 

"Watch out," shouts a Winter Court soldier. 

I flatten myself on top of the man I've just killed as an arrow soars overhead. 

"Hey thanks," the soldier says. 

I nod, "Don't mention it." Then I'm on my feet again and charging into the battle. I kill every solider wearing the bright white uniform of the Spring Court that I can get my hands on. I force myself to keep going though I know that their faces will be seared into my memory for eternity--if I survive. 

I don't try to use my ice power. I don't try to use any power except my newly imagined body. I don't see Lucien or Tamlin or anyone that I recognize.

Hours pass. The sun sinks below the sky. Trumpets sound and Winter Court soldiers retreat. I winnow into the woods and pull on the bundle of clothes that I'd brought, glad that I hadn't changed after wiping Charles's memory. I let the male body change back into my own feeling better now that I recognize my hands.  _Artist's hands._

I smear mud on my cheeks, glad that I hadn't been seriously injured. I braid my hair and then smear some mud on it, trying to make it look messy, like I'd taken a tumble off a horse. Then I jog up the hill towards the green Spring Court banners. 

Tamlin's face contorts in anger and confusion, but Lucien doesn't even bat an eye. In fact he looks pleased. 

"What are you doing here?" 

I burst into tears, causing about ten soldiers to turn and look in our direction. "I got separated from Charles in the forest! My horse got spooked. It was so dark and I just held onto it for miles I think before it finally threw me." I shake my head back and forth. "I don't know what happened to Charles." 

Tamlin, trying to contain his anger, grabs my arm and leads me away from the giant bonfire and into a large tent. He forces me into a chair and crosses his arms. Lucien trails in behind him. 

"How did you find us?" 

"I don't know I just--" I break off into sobs. "I just followed the sounds of a battle. Charles mentioned something about leaving for a plateau. Once I got close enough I could hear it." 

Tamlin looks stunned. I reach out and stroke down his doubts carefully, gently. Then I turn them against poor Charles. 

"I can't believe that son of a--" he cuts himself off with mumbles. Suddenly he straightens, wild eyes finding Lucien in the shadows. "Take her home.  _Now._ " 

"Now?" 

"Yes you idiot! We just lost the biggest battle yet. Do you think the Winter Court will be kind to women in their treaties? Take. Her. Home." 

Lucien clears his throat, his eyes fixed on me. "Tam--" 

"Take her home or so help me I'll have you locked up for disobedience to your High Lord," he roars. Claws slice out of his knuckles, gleaming in the lamplight. 

Without another word, Lucien crosses to me and wraps a hand around me arm. In a flash of autumn wind we're standing in the foyer of the Spring Court mansion. 

"Welcome home," the emissary mumbles. 

Familiar wards drop down around the windows and doors. The message is clear; I don't get out. 

 


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien confronts Feyre about the tattoo on her arm, and Feyre confesses to being a spy. Lucien agrees to keep her secret but on one condition...

The wards have just slammed into the windows and doors when Lucien turns around and snatches my arm. He pulls me along towards the West wing, up three flights of stairs, and into his bedroom. I stumble behind him, hoping that I don't have to kill him to get away. I quickly mark every entrance and exit to his room as he stalks over to a decanter and pours himself some brandy. 

When he's had a few sips, he says, "What are you?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Drop the glamour on your _damn_  arm and tell me what you are." 

My mind races as I stammer, "I am your High Lord's future wife! How dare--" 

He laughs cruelly. "Save it for Ianthe and Tamlin you lying whore." 

I blink, neck growing red.  _Whore. Tamlin's whore. Amarantha's whore._ My mate and I are mirror images of each other now. "Fine." I lash out with wind and send him sprawling onto the floor with a surprised and frightened expression. With Rhys's power I hold him down by the arms and legs, and cover his mouth. I drop the glamour on my arm, the inky tattoo curling over my creamy skin. I feel the heavy weight of wings at my back and imagine that they are unfolding around me, black and wide and magnificent. With silvery claws at each apex. Similar, wickedly sharp ones slice out of my hands. 

Lucien's eyes are now mad with fear as I stand above him. I feel myself smiling in spite of the churning in my stomach; it's cruel and cold just like the one in the forest. 

"A  _whore_ am I?" I let go of the power over his mouth, allowing him to speak. 

"What are you?" 

"I am High Lady of the Night Court," I say simply, almost purring. I let the image of Illyrian fighting leathers appear over my body before dissolving it. "I am no one's whore. I bow to no one and nothing--but my mate." A steady thrumming fills the bond; warmth fills my chest and I let darkness explode in the room as my body glows. I didn't know that I could use all of my powers at once, but it doesn't surprise me. 

"What did he do to you?" 

"Are you still playing that game?" I laugh humorlessly.  

His face drops as his suspicions are confirmed--"All of this time? You've been a spy? For that  _monster_?" 

The darkness and the glow vanish all at once as fury makes my hands spark. White fire leaps from my fingertips and I think about burning him alive. "He's not a monster Lucien. You are." 

"Me? What have I done?" 

"You let me waste away with Ianthe until I was almost dead with guilt and grief and sorrow. You let Tamlin lock me up in this gorgeous prison because you were too afraid to take me with you. To let me help--do anything other than what Ianthe had decided I should do. I  _needed_ you!" 

"You think it was easy? You know how he explodes, how destructive it is. He could kill me and just hire another emissary." 

"You didn't even fight for me! You were supposed to be my friend!" 

Lucien snarls, "You don't understand." 

"And now you're still working with him out of some _sick_ sense of loyalty. Even though he abuses you and turned your mate into the very thing she fears the most. Even though he's bringing this war and these losses on himself." 

He looks startled as he blinks up at me. "What. Did. He. Do. To you?" 

" _He_ let me out.  _He_ gave me purpose.  _He_ is my mate. You should know about that mating bond--how it feels in your chest." 

"That's a lie! Feyre, you don't know anything about our world." 

"I know that this is bond between us is something powerful, more powerful than what was between Tamlin and I before Ianthe. I know that I am his and he is mine. Forever and ever. And I know that Elain is your mate and that she knows it. But also that she thinks you are the enemy." 

Silence follows.

The fear in his eyes has slowly started to die, replaced with remorse and longing. "When my lover died, I had to watch. There was no coming back for her. They just murdered her and left her there." He gulps, tearing his gaze away from me and lifting it to the ceiling. "And now--I have Elain." The way he says her name tells me all I need to know. 

I release the tension that pins him to the ground, and he sits up with a hand on his back. "Lucien. Let me help you." 

He shakes his head, a broken look replacing his usual calm mask. "No. She won't want me. I'm not right for her--even mates can be badly matched." 

I sigh and sit on the ground in front of him. My fire has died, my wings have melted into my back, and my claws have been replaced by pale skin. Only the tattoo remains. I smile down at the cat eye. 

"When we were little there was me, Nesta, and Elain. Nesta was always angry and fighting and spitting. Just as she was while being put in the Cauldron. Then there was me, and I was hunting and dreaming of a day when I wouldn't have to scrape pennies together to buy an ounce of lard. But Elain was gentle. She was always kind and patient. An excellent gardener. She would be the perfect person for you, my friend. She's a healer, a lover. She would be able to help you and love you all at once." I smile even as his face remains stoney. 

"Do you mean that?" 

"Elain is--" 

"No. Am I really your friend? Even after all of this?" 

My heart breaks for him again. "Yes. Of course." 

"Will you really help me get to her?" 

"Yes." 

His eyes flick to my tattoo. "And you're. You're  _you_?" 

I laugh, a warm sound this time. "I am more me than I have been in my whole life, Lucien." 

He cracks a grin, "Then I will keep your secret." 

I nod, tears springing irrationally into my eyes. "Thank you." 


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar vanishing note appears one evening. Feyre subsequently executes her escape, taking Lucien and Ianthe with her.

Dinner is roasted chicken tonight. I frown at it as I slice it open, spearing a piece of meat and bring it to my mouth. Lucien sits across from me, picking at his mashed potatoes like they might have poison in them. Only Ianthe is cheerful, chattering away about some funny thing that happened at her temple today. It makes my stomach turn uncomfortably. 

"And then he said 'Can't you beseech the Cauldron on my daughter's behalf' since the child was mute," she snorts. "But of course you beseech the  _Mother_ not the Cauldron. And when I said---" I stop listening. 

I have been trapped in this mansion for about four weeks, painting and planning parties and reading in the library. Tamlin's room has a padlock on it with a paw print where the keyhole should be. Of course I could get in if I wanted to--but I can't bear to see those wings again. Besides, I don't dare make a move with Ianthe hanging about me every second of the day. Not now that I know she's the Azriel to Tamlin's Rhys. I try not to vomit at that comparison. 

I stir my peas around on my plate, watching the butter shine in the light of the enormous chandelier. I'm so tired these days. I chew a bite of roll and brood as Ianthe forces conversation.

"How is your work coming, Lady?" 

"Oh, fine. I can't seem to get the light in the painting to shine on the water the way I want it to." I've been studying the fountains in the gardens outside the feminine library. I don't try to paint the roses or Tamlin or Ianthe or Lucien. I would give myself away. 

"Well, there's nothing like persistence! Isn't that right, Lucien?" 

The fox rolls his eyes and spreads butter on a piece of toast. "Yes, quite." 

I watch white candle wax drip down the side of the tall candlesticks in the new candelabras gracing the middle of the table. They're gold and sparkly and way too expensive for wartime. I'm just wondering if I can get Celeste to steal them when a scrap of white paper appears beside my plate. There few words on it, written in familiar, neat handwriting with a black pen. 

_Now Feyre darling._

I smile, happily and wickedly at the same time. I've been waiting for those words for almost a year. I snatch it up and crush it in my fist before Ianthe can notice. Then I send a gust of wind wheeling around the room, closing the only doors with a bang and blocking all of the windows. _No one escapes_. 

Ianthe looks rattled to say the least. Her face is bright red under her hood and her hands are in fists as if ready to fight back. 

I lash out with wind again and send her slamming into the wall, still sitting in her chair. I hold her still with Rhysand's power and stalk closer while black wings explode from my back and talons form at my fingertips. I drop the glamour on my arm. 

She struggles against the restraints, screaming for anyone to help her. But no one will hear her over the sound of my winds. The guards won't be able to get in until we're far into the Night Court. I see her watching my tattooed hand with faint recognition. 

I reach into her mind and she immediately stiffens at that that feeling. I smile cruelly as her eyes fill with pain at the memory of what my mate had done to her hand. It twitches involuntarily. 

"You  _whore_! I knew it! I knew you hadn't really escaped his spell," she barks, triumphant despite her fear and pain. 

I send fire balls at the wall beside her head, grazing her hood ever so slightly. _Why does everyone go straight to_ whore? 

"I have never been under a spell, my dear," I say, channeling all of that anger and hatred as I watch her struggle. "But it's a shame that you didn't think me to be a better actress." I let my talons scrape the outside of her mind. There is a wall but it is not wholly built. I click my tongue, stalking closer. "Don't you know what I can do to you Ianthe?" 

I take her silence and run with it. "I can burn you alive. I can slice you to pieces. I can paint your story on these walls with your own blood. I can freeze you. I can suffocate you with wind. I can blind you, make you my own slave. I can drown you right here." 

"Then why don't you," she snarls. 

I shrug. "I'd rather let my mate deal with you. Or perhaps a certain Illyrian will take pride in carving you up with a blade--Truth-Teller, maybe?" 

She goes still at the thought of what Rhys or Azriel could do with that nasty, razor sharp knife. 

"Either way, my work here is done." I smile coldly. "So I'm going home." 

I lash out with Rhy's power and break her leg in half at the knee. She screams, tears rolling out of her eyes and making silver tracks down her cheeks. Her charming, beautiful face contorts with pain as I stalk closer. I remember what she did to Rhys. Remember how she sold my human family to Hybern. And then I mercifully force her to pass out. 

I let the wind die as I send fire sailing around the room. The curtains burn. The table laden with food burns. The chairs, the walls, the floor begins to burn. 

Lucien winnows to my side. "How are we going to get out?" 

"A shortcut." I throw everything I have into my wind, building it in my hands until it is almost too big and fast for me to control. Then I send it towards the wall next to Ianthe's limp body, punching a strategic hole in the building. 

"Get her," I call over my shoulder. I hear Lucien grunt as he scoops her into his arms. We winnow to the end of the drive, and I look back at the house. The dinning room is still blazing, the windows have shattered by now. I gaze at the luscious rose gardens and fountains and the rose covered mansion where I once found peace. I curl my lip and light my index finger. Carefully, I set the gardens on fire with blue flames. The smoke curls up into the blue night sky.  

"Why not destroy the house," Lucien whispers. He hoists Ianthe over his shoulder. 

"Because I have a sister who would love it here. And maybe one day we can repair the ties between our courts." 

I look up at him and smile, worn and tired and sad. He returns it. 

I take his hand and together we fade into mist and darkness and stardust. 

When we land in the House of Winds, Mor screams immediately. She runs over and throws her arms around my shoulders, bringing me into a bone crushing hug. 

"Feyre! You're back!" 

Then she spots Lucien and Ianthe. By now Azriel has appeared out of thin air behind Morrigan. I hear feet on the stairs, and Cassian along with my sisters burst into the room. Lucien has gotten to his feet, leaving Ianthe in a heap on the floor. 

I hold up my hands. "I can explain! But right now, Azriel please take our lovely new guest and lock her up in the deepest, darkest cell we have. Make sure no one can hear her screams." 

The shadowsinger nods and scoops up the priestess, vanishing altogether in a swirl of shadows. 

I nod to myself, eyes scanning my sisters and Cassian and Mor. Cassian's wings are bandaged with white cloth that looks odd against the smooth black membrane. Mor looks weary but still cheerful somehow. Nesta and Elain look just like High Fae, pointed ears and all. Both are looking at me with polar opposite expressions; Elain looks excited to see me alive while Nesta looks furious. 

I realize that everyone is staring at Lucien. I turn to my friend and he tears himself away from Elain to look me in the eye. "Go down the hall, down the steps, and to the right. You can sleep there tonight." 

He nods, and as soon as he's out of earshot, Nesta says, "You'd better start explaining.  _Now_." 


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After explaining what happened, the Court of Dreams peels off to begin damage control. Elain and Feyre talk about the mating bond between Elain and Lucien. Some very bad news is delivered in a very painful way.

I lean back in my chair, swirling my glass of white wine. I prefer it to red; it looks too much like blood. The night sky is waning above us, turning pale as the sun peeks above the mountains. Snow whirls around outside, but the inside is still balmy and comfortable. I've missed the smell of citrus trees and jasmine more than I even realized. Looking around the table, I try to keep myself from crying.  _This is not a fever dream. They are real._

Mor with her golden hair. Cassian with his broken yet slowly mending wings. Azriel with his whispering shadows. Nesta with her angry expression and Elain with her quiet, thoughtful one. Amren has yet to appear, which leads me to believe that she is holed up in her penthouse with a gallon of goat's blood. It's what she deserves. Rhys--he's probably somewhere working. That's okay. I want to surprise him. 

"Well," I ask quietly. "How have you all been?" 

"Peachy," Nesta snarls. "Did you say you got to carve Tamlin into ribbons?" 

I shake my head, almost smiling at her absurd bluntness. Like a boulder hurled from a volcano.  _Bad metaphor,_ I tell myself.  _She'd hate it._

Nesta's frown deepens. "That'll be my job, then." 

"Shall I send him a blood ruby," Cassian quips. 

"Let it be a surprise," she snaps. 

I watch my friend's eyes graze over my sister, a new look in them...no longer a warrior sizing up an interesting opponent...something different. Her eyes linger on his, defiant but not exactly burning with the same fire...

I make a mental note to ask Mor. 

Azriel chugs his wine. "I will monitor my spies in the court. Make sure that they are alright." 

I nod as he disappears into thin air. Cassian stands, running a hand through his hair nervously. "I should go prepare the Illyrians." 

"Are they fighting with us?" 

He bites his lip. "Some. Others, those that bowed to Amarantha, have disappeared." He starts to walk away and then--"Be on your guard." He disappears, red color lingering where his seven Siphons had been. 

 _Be on your guard, Lady._ Ianthe had said that to me in the months after Amarantha when we were planning parties. She'd meant that the other Fae would be twisting my words, gossiping on my behalf...this was something different. No politics. A friend protecting a friend. 

I catch Nesta's eyes glued to the spot where Cassian was for two seconds too long. She flushes red when she notices and gives me a swift and dirty signal before downing her wine as well. "I'll see you _all_ later." She stares me down. "I'm glad you aren't dead." 

She winnows away, unsurprisingly, leaving Mor, Elain, and I alone at a giant table. 

"How are Amren and Rhys," I ask Mor. 

She rolls her eyes. "Rhys is out of his mind with worry. But he trusts you. He'll be over the moon--literally--when he hears you're back." I smile, thinking quickly of the cabin. "Amren is in and out of the house all the time. She's been trying to track the Book's movement. Your coordinates really helped." 

I nod again and let my eyes land on my sister. Elain looks well; her face is healthy and her eyes are bright. She smiles at me. 

"Thank you, Feyre," she says. "For everything. I know it wasn't easy--" 

I hold up a hand, "If it means keeping you all safe and stopping this war I will do anything." 

"Be careful," Elain says, eyes sparkling with tears. "Those are dangerous words." 

I shrug. "What else could I do?" 

Elain shakes her head. "You sound like Nesta." 

Mor takes this as her cue to leave. She crushes me into another hug after pulling me into a hug and winks. "I'll see you later." Then she melts into the air. 

Together we get up and walk over to the cluster of overstuffed chairs that face the windows. We settle into one giant one, side by side, and I tuck my feet under me, spreading my ridiculous skirts around me. 

"Nesta spends all her time training with weapons," Elain blurts out. She shakes her head and looks at me nervously.  

"What is it?" 

"I'm afraid that she's too reckless now, with the speed and agility and strength. She thinks she's invincible." 

"What do you think?" 

"She's going to get herself killed trying to atone for those years we let you go hunting alone. I know she blames herself for letting that horrible woman capture us." Elain swallows again, trying to clear her voice. "And there's something else..." She looks down at her long, delicate fingers and flexes them. Her eyes dart to my tattoo. 

"What is it," I repeat, leaning closer. 

She chews on her lip. "There's this feeling I have. In my chest. I've never felt it before crossing the wall...it's like what I felt for Graysen. But it's--" 

"Stronger?" 

Elain, with widening eyes, nods. 

I sigh, "That is what I feel for Rhys." I put a hand against my chest and lean across to gently touch the same spot on Elain. "It's right here?" 

She nods again, eyes darting from side to side. "I'm afraid." She thumbs the iron ring that is still clenched around her slender High Fae finger, turning it around and around. "I still love him but...this keeps me up at night. And I've been having dreams...of roses and spring and... _him._ " 

"Elain," I say gently. "I need you to look at me."

When her eyes have focused on mine, I continue. "There might be a way for me to change you back. To make you human again." I take a deep breath, thinking of Lucien ending up alone with his mate across the wall married to a Lord's son who grew up hating the Fae. "But that is your choice to make. I can tell you what that feeling is, but what you do with it once I tell you is your decision." 

My sister sits very still for a long time, mulling things over in her mind. "He said. That redheaded one. He said I was his mate." The word mate lands like a pebble between us. "When I first got turned. I heard him. And when you both showed up here...when I came in I felt something pulling at my heart until I thought it was going to rip it out." She thinks longer. "Feyre, you are Rhysand's mate." 

Realization dawns on her. Her gaze fiercely locks on mine again. "Tell me who he is."

"Lucien is the High Lord of the Autumn Court's son. He had a lover, long ago, that was killed. He fled that court and became Tamlin's emissary for the Spring. He is my friend. He healed me after the Attor beat me Under the Mountain. He is broken. He wants to get to know you, Elain, I promise. He doesn't just want to mate and not...not have a real relationship." I stop and look at the snowy peaks beyond the warm borders of the House. "Rhysand waited to tell me. He waited until I could handle it without falling apart again. Lucien is willing to do that for you. He is very sad, Elain, and broken...but I think you might be able to help."

I glance at her and see the pity and sadness filling her eyes. "I think you should get to know him. You might find that you like him." 

"I might be happy as a human Lady," she offers. But I can tell without having to pry that her thoughts are on those high walls with sentries. No gardens. No greenery or flowers or nature. No freedom. 

"That is your choice," I say. "But weigh each side carefully." I stand, stretching and yawning. The gray dawn has become baby blue. "I'm going to get some sleep, okay?" 

Elain nods, already deep in thought. 

"The mating bond, for me, was like the answer to every question that I've ever asked." I put a hand on her shoulder. 

She briefly touches it with a faint nod. 

I winnow to my room. Stripping off the Spring Court gown takes almost ten minutes. I drag it to the tub that hangs out over the mountain side and burn it, watching the fabric shrivel and die. I put it out myself with Tarquin's power and then throw on a Night Court style outfit just like the one I wore when I first came here.

I've just crawled into bed when I feel a ripping pain snake up my calf and stop at the back of my knee. I scream, reaching for it and finding no blood. Confused, I try to stagger out of bed to the mirror. A burning fills my side and I double over, dropping to the ground. 

 _Poison,_ my mind screams out. _This has to be--_  An image of a bloody floor fills my mind. Arrows litter the ground. Smoke fills my nose. Someone is trying to bind my wings _..._ a male voice in my head shouts familiar coordinates and then breaks off into a scream of pain. 

I reach for the bond and find it throbbing, warm yet growing cold. 

Someone is banging on my door, but I can't get up. It blasts open and admits Mor. The ashen face that stares down at me tells me all I need to know. 

_Rhysand is a prisoner of war._

 


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre winnows to the spot where Rhys was. She searches for any clues to where he might have gone for days. She and Nesta actually reconcile with one another. Amren solves the problem.

_My mate. My mate. My mate._

My throat is closing up. Phantom claws scrape at my entire body, hooking in my skin and dragging me down. My heart pumps blood painfully, each thump an awful squeeze as I drown in fear. 

_My mate my mate my mate_

Those words follow me down the hall as I run, with Mor in tow, to the training field. Cassian is already there, looking wild and enraged. 

_Mymatemymatemymate._

I storm to the glistening knives and strap a belt across my hips, quickly sliding the blades in their holders. I feel heavy darkness leaking out of my pores, spilling over the ground, swirling around my ankles. This darkness is as cold and frightening as the chunks of ice dropping into my stomach.  _I will hunt down and kill every one of his captors. I will tear apart everything in my path to bring him home._

I think of those giant, membranous wings. I sling a bow and quiver over my shoulder. Turning on my heel, I see that Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren have appeared. 

Amren nods to me, her dark bob swaying slightly. "We are at your service." Her quicksilver eyes glitter dangerously. This is the first time I've seen her in months--I hate that it has to be like this. 

It occurs to me that I have no idea what to do. I don't know where to start. I don't want to take prisoners, but prisoners may be the only way to bring Rhys back. I open my mouth, but my throat is locked. Only a shaky breath escapes. 

Cassian mercifully takes the lead, "We winnow to the coordinates. We take few prisoners. We send a message." 

I nod, willing myself not to cry. I can't, not when their best friend and High Lord has been taken yet again by his enemies. I look at them, my inner circle. My friends. My family. My gaze lingers too long on Cassian's wings. 

"He's got his power, Feyre. They won't know how to hold him for long," Azriel says quietly. 

I nod, choking the tears down like poison, and winnow away. 

The temple stands in ruins in front of me. A dry wind blows over the land, but I don't bother to listen as I stride forward. My shoes, impractical slippers, crunch over the dead grass. I hear the inner circle moving behind me, fanning out to scout around for someone. Anyone. I step closer to the building, watching the broken windows for any signs of life. A dry wind whistles through the demolished rafters. I hold my bow at an angle, ready to fire and kill on sight.

 _Mymatemymatemymate._  

Silence follows me up the stairs as I near the open doorway. The doors themselves have been blown off their hinges. I take one step inside; three crows nearly give me a heart attack as they flap out of the caved in roof. The benches and altar have been hacked to pieces. Someone has burned the walls. Blood covers the floor, still sticky but not quite fresh. 

I look around in vain for Rhys, but find nothing except a torn piece of black leather in the middle of a thick pool of blood. 

I can smell him--faintly, but the scent is there. Citrus, jasmine, wind.  _He definitely was here._

I make my way slowly towards the altar and find three iron prongs curving out of the floor. They look as if they're meant to hold something of considerable weight. There's a stone cabinet in a little alcove right behind it filled with shattered or empty bottles. A dusty chest sits in an adjoining alcove next to it and is lined with plush, purple cloth. A rectangular indention has been made in the center.  _The Book. The Cauldron._

A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine my sisters being submerged inside, of Nesta's finger disappearing with her. But something is wrong...the dust on the chest didn't look like it had been disturbed before I touched it...what if...

"Feyre?" 

I turn to find Amren standing with her arms crossed in the doorway. 

"Find anything?" 

I shake my head and fight back tears. Fear begins clawing at my throat again.  _My mate my mate my mate. Death incarnate. Night triumphant._ I get a hold of the darkness that threatens to pour out of me and turn it off. 

Cassian appears behind Amren, white bandages almost glowing in the harsh sunlight. 

"What is this place," I ask. 

"One of many temples for the Cauldron. It hasn't been used since the thing was destroyed after the War." Amren shakes her head. "It would be a good place to move the cauldron...and an even better place to trap anyone trying to find it." 

A sick feeling twists my stomach as my fear keeps slashing at my throat. No. Those coordinates. They were. This is.  _My fault._ "This is my fault." 

Amren's eyes flash, "You couldn't have known. And besides you don't have time to wallow. I only just got my High Lady back, and I've lost my High Lord.  _We_ are going to find him. You still have the bond." 

I reach for it as soon as she says it.  _Rhys? Rhys!_

A faint tremor answers me, but nothing useful. "He's alive." 

Someone--maybe me--breathes a sigh of relief. Azriel and Mor have joined us now. 

_Rhys. Please send me a picture. Of anything._

Sunlight flashes through the bond and blinds me momentarily. Grass. Tents. Sudden pain makes me double over. I feel someone--Mor--put her arms around me. 

"I don't know where he is." I feel like the air has been sucked out of my body. "I don't know where. He. Is." 

"Breathe," Mor says, petting my hair. "We'll find him."

We search for two days. We winnow away for quick snacks at the House of Winds before winnowing back and searching the temple. When Nesta is told that Rhysand is gone, she accompanies us on the condition that Elain and "that one"--her name for Lucien--stay home. They oblige. 

My sister scours everything three times over. She searches through the night by the glow of bobbing Fae lights. I can't bring myself to conjure the glow I once did for Rhys in that cabin. 

On the third day, a slender yet calloused hand shakes me awake. Nesta stands over me, eyes triumphant. I shake off the nightmare I was having as the stars swim into focus. 

"I found something." 

She leads me away from where we're camped outside. Everyone else is still asleep, curled on their sides or sprawled on their backs. Cassian mumbles to himself and rolls over away from us. 

"What is it," I ask as we get closer to the temple. To my surprise she leads me inside even though we've been searching in there for days with no luck. 

We step into the gloom and I light my fingertips with white fire so it'll be easier to see. She goes straight to the altar and points to a tiny piece of wood that lays halfway hidden under a pile of stones...

I start to bend down, but remember that my hands are on fire. Instead, Nesta crouches and picks it up. She turns it over and holds it up to the light. 

An H. A crude H has been carved into a tiny block of wood. 

"Look for more. Any more letters."  _Who carved this...did Rhys...?_

Nesta throws blocks aside, digging for anything that looks remotely like writing. In a few minutes she holds up an S. Then a C. 

H. S. C. 

_Who carved these?_

"They've got to mean something," Nesta says, hope making her whisper shrill. I've never seen her like this before. 

I shake my head and sit down with the letters arranged in front of me.  _H. S. C._ "For all we know they could belong to a priestess who worked here. Initials." I let my shoulders droop for the first time in three days. I let tears drip off my chin. My fire fizzles out. _My mate is gone. I'm failing him._  

Nesta kneels before me and grabs my face, forcing me to look at her. "Don't you dare cry," she hisses. "Not now. Not when you're the only chance we have of stopping those monsters from killing everyone we've ever known."

I try to shake her off, but my sister holds fast with her old ferocity. 

"I am going to tear Hybern apart. Bone by bone," she declares.

She nods to the darkness, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "I am going to do it for Elain," she whispers to them. "For Cassian's wings. For you. For this new life you've built for yourself. For the male that you love. For all of your friends who were so kind to Elain and I in those early days. For Velaris."  

I struggle to swallow a sob. "What?" 

"I want to fight for that; for them and this world that your mate worked so hard to preserve. I--I love them. All." She pauses and looks at me again. In the starlight, her face almost glows. "Elain told me that you could make us human again. Please--don't. Not me at least. The life I was facing---it was going to be awful. A spinster, even after all that time pretending to be great and rich. Feyre. I am so sorry about all of those years I spent hating you. I'm sorry for putting you in so much danger, for not fighting for you when Tamlin took you. Please, forgive me." 

I nod, clutching at her hands just as she clutches mine.  _This has to be a fever dream_...but it isn't. She's real, her hands are warm in mine and her face is washed in tears. I didn't realize how much Nesta meant to me; Elain, yes, with her sweet and gentle ways. She was always the balm that held me together in my darkest days, and the glue that kept Nesta and I from tearing each other apart. 

"I want to stay here. I want to live in this wonderful, rich world. With you and your mate and your friends." She wipes hastily at her face. "So you  _have_ to figure out what these letters mean. They  _have_ to be clues from Rhysand or someone from his war band. Please. For them. For me." 

In the silence that follows, I find the courage to light my fire again and shine it on the letters. H. S. C. 

Around dawn, Amren discovers us huddled around the same collection of letters. We've rearranged them into a new pattern. S. H. C. 

"Well, that's settled then," says my second in command. 

We look up at her, bleary eyed and restless. "What," I croak. 

"Isn't it obvious," she asks. Noticing our blank expression, she rolls her eyes. "Hybern. Spring Court. That's who attacked, and that's who has our favorite little bat." 

I don't know what shocks me more; the fact that neither Nesta nor I could understand that or the fact that Amren just referred to the most powerful High Lord in history as a "little bat." 


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is attacked and almost killed by a spy for the Spring Court. After grilling for information, she wipes his mind and has him dumped on the edge of Tamlin's territory.

_Hybern. Spring Court._

Those two things right there are the reasons for all of my troubles. 

Immediately after Amren figures out the puzzle, we winnow back to the House of Winds, taking the pieces with us. 

"What now," Nesta asks, saving me the embarrassment of doing it myself. 

We're standing in the dinning area. The sun is high in the blue sky now. Some of the snow has melted off the mountains. 

I shake my head. "We know who attacked them and captured him, but we don't know where he is. Hybern could have just been using a legion of soldiers from the Spring Court." 

"So we go to the Spring Court and torture someone for information," Nesta offers, cracking her knuckles. 

Cassian, half grinning, says, "Not so fast. He could be in the Autumn Court for all we know, and you do _not_ want to go charging in  _there_ without thinking about it first." 

"Feyre has Rhys contacted you," Mor asks gently. 

"No. Not a word. I think he's in too much pain," I tell them quietly. 

Thick silence falls over the room. I sway on my feet, realizing that I haven't slept more than twenty minutes since the night before leaving the Spring Court. I look around and find that my friends are all exhausted, too. 

"We need to get rest," I say. "We're no good to Rhys exhausted, especially since we might have to march into enemy territory. Let's get some sleep. Lock your doors and don't come out unless you know  _for sure_ that the person knocking is a friend." 

As we start to walk away, I notice Nesta standing back. I go to her even though I can feel a headache forming at the base of my head. "What is it?" 

"It could have been Lucien," she hisses, eyes darting towards the hall. "He could have sold us out." 

I shake my head no. "It wasn't him. I would've known if he was planning something like this." 

"How?" 

I realize that I haven't explained my daemati powers to them. "I just do." 

"Elain needs to stay away from him." 

I chew my lip, choosing my words carefully. "Nesta. Elain can make her own choices." 

"She needs to go  _home_ to be with  _Grayson._ She doesn't need to be with a  _Faerie_. Especially not one from the Spring Court." 

"Lucien is a loyal friend," I say calmly. "I would trust him with my life." 

"Whatever you say, Feyre." She starts to walk off, but I catch her arm. 

My fire begins to heat up my hand so I work to turn it to ice. The coolness scares her, I can see it. "You said last night that you had made friends here. That you wanted my friends to be yours as well. Lucien is my friend, whether you like it or not. At least be civil." 

Nesta wrenches her arm away and brushes her greasy hair back from her face. The frost on her forearm begins to melt, dripping on the floor as she slinks away. 

I roll my eyes and winnow straight to my room, too tired to think about bumping into someone else.  _It's not Lucien,_ I tell myself.  _I would have seen it coming._

I wash my hair and body quickly before dressing and climbing straight under the covers. Sleep hits me like a cannon as I breathe in the lavender and jasmine scent that my candles emit.  _We'll find him. We'll---_ I fall into a fretful sleep. 

I'm thrown from my nightmares by a different smell a few hours later. Sweat, dirt, blood. Roses.  _Why does everything smell like roses...?_ I open my eyes when I smell the sharp, disgusting smell of rotten breath. 

A man is kneeling over me, knees on either side of my body. His face is close enough to mine for me to see every shade of brown in his eyes. I have time to register the white and green uniform before he plunges the knife he was holding over his head down towards my stomach. I scream and shove him away just as the blade grazes my naval. I roll off the mattress and throw darkness at him, wrapping myself in it until I know that he can't see me.

"Where are you..." he snarls, drawing a sword from its sheath. His white uniform, with a rusty red spot on the shoulder, makes him an easy target as we do a slow waltz around the room.

I make it to where I'd discarded my belt of knives on the floor earlier and unsheathe two. I sneak up behind him on silent, cat like feet. He trips over something, falls hard. I land on top of him and pin him to the ground on his stomach. I make the darkness clear and throw fire around every exit. With Rhy's power I break my assassin's legs behind the knee. I crawl off of him. 

"Who are you," I ask, cold and calculating. I clean my nails with the sharp point of my knife, acting bored. 

When he doesn't answer right away I send pain down his spine. 

"Graham Falcon. Spring Court," he says, tearing up as I send another jolt. "Please let me go." 

"After you just tried to kill me? No, I don't think so," I croon. I stalk closer, twirling the knife so that the blade shines. The fire heats my back. I feel sweat roll down it. "No, I think you can help me, Mr. Falcon." 

"Help you?" 

"Yes, sir," I say politely, smiling wickedly. "You see you took something of mine. I want it back." 

"No. No we didn't take anything." 

"Oh dear. I think you have," I stalk closer, much to his absolute terror. I can see it in his eyes, his muscles, the way he holds his mouth.  _This_ is why he tried to kill me in my sleep. He didn't want to have to face Feyre Cursebreaker. Not for real. 

It is then that I realize that I have become a nightmare, a campfire story told to frighten young children. I am the witch, the villain of the story. At least in this male's mind. 

I place the knife on the floor, still in easy reach, and gently caress his face with the claws that have sprouted out of my nails. He trembles. "I'd like it back, please, sir." 

"Didn't--take--anything!" 

"Then how did you get in? Who told you the back entrances?" 

"No one! I found them myself. It was my job," he cries. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. 

I frown, extinguish the fire, and then scrape my mental claws against his mind. It's wide open, and he's telling the truth. He was the spy. He'd been here for weeks, serving breakfast. When he got the word that I'd left the Spring Court, taken Ianthe hostage, and brought Lucien he had been given the orders to kill me. 

"Who told you to kill me," I snarl. Even though I know. 

"His majesty."

"Why would anyone want to kill someone like me?" 

"He says you're dangerous. He says he'll stop at nothing--" 

But I'm done with this interrogation. He doesn't know where Rhys is. He was only following the orders to kill me. Something about that bothers me...

"Why did you pause," I ask quickly. "You could have just stabbed me and been done with me. Why did you pause?" 

He's fully sobbing now. He believes that I'm going to kill him. He chokes out, "You looked like my sister." 

I nod, slowly beginning to wipe away the memory of the experience. I keep the pain, keep the terror but scramble what I'd asked. I cause him to pass out, and call for Azriel. The shadowsinger looks surprised to find a male in a Spring Court uniform sprawled on my floor. 

"Take him to the northern border of the Spring Court and dump him," I say, still sounding cold yet regal. "Make sure they know who did this." 

Azriel looks as if he wants to say something, but instead hoists the broken Faerie over his shoulders and disappears. 

When both of them have disappeared, I start crying. Snot runs out of my nose and mixes with the tears. I hear the soldier's bones cracking over and over, see his eyes bright with terror even though mine are shut. The boy from the Spring Court swims into my memory. All of the soldiers that I have killed. Charles. The two Faeries. The wolf. 

I crawl into my bed as the tears splatter onto the sheets.  _Rhys!_

He's no closer to being found. He might as well be dead. 

_There's only one thing left to do..._


	21. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre catches a Suriel...again.

_...it's time to find the Suriel._

I ball my fists up and push them into my eyes until I've stopped crying. I wash my face and dry it with a soft towel. I braid my tangled, slightly damp hair into a tight plait down my back. I pull on fur lined Illyrian fighting leathers, liking the feeling of the fuzz against my bare skin. I throw a cloak over my shoulders. I strap the knives to my back, lace up my boots, and winnow away. 

I appear in the forest not far from the cave where I had left Rhys the last time I'd caught the Suriel. The trees here are enormous firs that seem to stretch higher than the mountains. I find the stream--the same stream--and fashion my snare. 

I scale a nearby tree and crouch against it's ancient trunk, waiting with my legs dangling over the sides. _This has to work._

Night falls, turning the forest even darker. The birds sing their evening songs, animals and monsters below me lumber to their dens. The needles above my head blot out the stars and moon. A crisp wind blows by, ripping wisps of hair out of my braid. 

Then I feel it, a silence stealing over the whole woods. Even the wind stops rustling through the branches. I draw two knives and watch the Suriel creep out of the shadows. I can smell its rotting flesh getting nearer as it draws closer to the snare. It pauses, sniffing the air. It takes one step too many and my snare snaps closed around its skinny ankle, dragging it off its feet. 

"Cursebreaker!" It is snarling as the strong pine bough hoists it into the air. My cloak is gripped in its spindly hands. "I should have recognized your scent!" 

I don't dare lean out of my hiding place, but its ugly head has swiveled to where I sit. I haven't missed that eerie voice. 

"To what do I owe this  _nasty_ little visit," it snarls. When I don't answer it seems even more annoyed. "Hiding in trees doesn't suit you...not when you have firepower at your disposal. Scared quite a few people with that little trick, haven't you?" 

"One or two," I say. I slide down the trunk, two knives still in my hands. It's true, hiding from a Suriel is like hiding from an all seeing eye. I tell myself to glow, and let the white light beat back the darkness of the clearing. The Suriel curls its lips back at the light grows, showing all of its brown teeth. 

"You have many questions, I see. One is more pressing than the others..." It has calmed itself now that it sees me stalking close. 

"Where is Rhysand?"

"So blunt!"

"And you're sarcastic and annoyed. I thought Suriel were supposed to be mysterious and cunning. Had a run in with Hybern yet?" I twirl the knives. 

The creature recoils at the name, hissing as if it has been doused with gasoline.

"Ah, so you have? And have you decided to remain neutral as he slaughters your kin?" 

"The Suriel are still a powerful race,  _girl_ ," it snaps. "We will not be slaughtered like a pack of Naga. Do not attack me with such hostile words when I have never been rude to you." 

I shake my head. I don't have time for pleasantries. That can wait until after the war. After my mate is home safe. "Where. Is. Rhysand?" 

"Your mate is held in the Spring Court. A fort in the lower half. With the High Lord of Spring I believe." 

"Tamlin?" 

"Had him captured a day before the cauldron was moved. Again. It appears that your mate waited too long to attack." 

So the coordinates were correct. The king just got suspicious and moved it again. Rhys was probably ambushed once people found out that communications had been breached. "Where has it been taken this time?" 

"Back to Hybern of course. Oh, the book is there, too, before you waste breath asking." 

"Thank you," I say, backing away from it. 

The Suriel twists to look at me. "They are moving him, Cursebreaker. To a location close to the Autumn Court border. You need to hurry." 

"What location?" 

He rattles off more coordinates, and I commit them to memory. 

"When you get there," the Suriel says, stopping me once more. "Make him  _beg_." 

I stop with the knife held high, ready to throw it at the snare and set it free. I can winnow away if it tries to harm me. I'd had time to plan every exit route while I was waiting. "Why are you helping me?" 

The creature actually smiles, bone colored face gleaming in the light of my glow. "You're so interesting, Feyre Cursebreaker. I like you."

I let the knife fly and watch as the snare snaps, letting the Suriel fall to the ground. Only it never reaches the forest floor. I twists in midair and gives me a cordial nod. Then it's gone in the blink of an eye. 


	22. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Azriel winnow to the Spring Court to get Rhysand. Feyre kicks some serious butt.

"I'm taking Azriel with me," I say, picking at my nails. The shadowsinger nods while Nesta snorts. 

"Fine, but I'm coming too." She crosses her arms over her chest. 

I shake my head. "No. You need to stay here with Cassian and Amren and Mor. Make the troops ready. Prepare yourself. What Azriel and I are about to do will certainly make this war worse." 

Nesta, her blue eyes snapping, says, "Then that's why you need us." 

Mor puts her hands up, stepping in between us. We're standing on the training field just minutes after I returned from the Suriel. "Feyre, I think you should take more people than this. No offense, Az, but you _are_ still wounded." 

Azriel runs a hand over his abdomen. "I can go." 

"If you're sure..." 

"I am," he says. His blue siphons gleam in the growing morning light. "We will bring Rhys back." 

I nod at him gratefully. "Mor I need you here to monitor Hewn City, make sure that they think their High Lord is still home. Amren needs to keep track of the book--just to make sure it isn't moved again. Cassian needs to train his soldiers. Nesta I need you to stay with Elain..." 

"What for?" 

I turn to see Elain and Lucien making their way over the training field. My sister's light yellow gown looks like a stray sunbeam. I see golden shoes peeking out from beneath its hem as she joins us. 

"What for," she repeats. Her brown eyes look like pools of caramel. "Where are you going?" 

"We're going to bring Rhys home," I tell her. "I got the location from a very close...confidant." 

Elain glances at Lucien who is staring at me. "You caught a Suriel? For the second time?" 

"Third actually," I quip. "Azriel and I are going. I need the rest of you to stay here." 

"Where is he," Lucien asks. 

"As if you didn't know," Nesta barks, lips curling back from her teeth. Tension immediately tightens. Cassian's hand is on his sword's hilt, Mor has uncrossed her arms. Amren is watching my sister with flickering eyes. 

Lucien looks surprised, "What?" 

"It's your fault he's there, isn't it? He didn't disappear until you came." 

"I didn't do anything," my friend tells her. Elain has shrunk away from the pair, face turning pink. 

"Liar," Nesta snarls just as I say, "Nesta stop!" 

Nesta looks at me, eyes hardened and jaw tight. I shake my head at her. "I need you to stay here, Lucien. We're going to the Spring Court." 

The fox's eyes grow round, gaze jumping from Elain to me to Nesta and back again. The others have relaxed a bit. Mor's eyebrows still are kitted together, but Cassian's hand is off his sword. 

"I need you to stay here. I don't want him to know whether you are alive or dead." Lucien only nods, curtly, and steps back from Nesta. "Elain I want you to stay here, too." 

"I can hold my own!" Elain looks dubious. "I've been training!" 

"No," I shake my head. "You'll be of better help here. Nesta stay with her." 

"The rest of you," I look around at my assembled friends, "have your orders. We'll be back before nightfall." 

I watch Mor and Cassian walk away. Lucien has already winnowed home looking shell shocked. Nesta strides away to a training dummy, picks up a broadsword, and lops its head off. Elain grabs my arm. 

"Please let me go!" 

I shake my head again, remembering when I used to tug on Tamlin's arm like this. I wanted to go so badly. Wanted to help so badly...that I'd been ruined. I won't let that happen for her. 

"Elain. No." 

I grab Azriel's hand before she can argue, shake off her touch, and we winnow away. The last thing I see are her wounded brown eyes. 

I smell spring flowers and immediately shudder. _It'll take a lifetime for me to tolerate them again._  I see the blinding, golden sunlight and the rolling hills. We've gone to the correct place. There's a camp not far; I can smell the scent of sweaty warriors, campfires, and horses. 

I jerk my head in that direction and we creep along through tall, swaying grass. I grip the blade of my knife, readying myself to slice the first throat I find. The bond is faint in my chest. I grab it and give it a yank. 

 _Rhys,_ I say,  _we're close._

Azriel moves silently, as if he's walking on air. The grass barely moves as he slinks along under the brilliant blue sky. 

Finally, we near the edge of the grass. In a shallow dip between two hills is a sprawling camp; canvas tents dot the valley, little wisps of smoke rise from their fires, and everywhere there are males. Like ants crowding around an ant hill. In the center is a massive stone monstrosity with a green flag flying from the thatched roof.

"That's where we're going," I whisper to Azriel.

He nods subtly.  

"Rhys will be in the dungeons. I need you to get him. Winnow home as soon as you break him free, don't worry about meeting up. This has to be quick." I set my jaw, eyes glued to the fort. "Leave Tamlin to me." 

Azriel touches my shoulder once before sneaking down the hill. I watch him disappear into the surging crowd of soldiers. 

I blink, gaze refocusing on the tower. I feel my anger and terror and sadness welling up inside my chest, beating against my ribs and suffocating my heart. He took my mate. He took my mate and now has him chained. He may have lost his wings. At the image of Rhys's beautiful wings pinned on Tamlin's bedroom ceiling, I feel my power rolling in my veins. It's time. 

I don't bother being stealthy. This rage inside of me is neither quiet nor unnoticeable. It roars as loudly as waves beating against stone, as fire devouring a forest. I stride down the hill, feeling darkness rippling off my shoulders like a cloak. I let ice leak out of my feet, freezing the grass beneath every step. Flames lap at my arms, swirling up them the way my tattoo does. I feel claws slice out of my hands, wings spread wide at my back, and horns sprout from my head. I suck the spring breeze up and use it to blast through the gate. The guards scream in terror. 

I am a monster. I am the creature that feasts on village children. The thing that humans are afraid of over the wall. I have claws. I burn and freeze and drown. I blot out the sun. I blind onlookers. I make the streets run red with blood. I make men's screams fill the silence. I am the very essence of terror. 

Soldiers scream as I pass; they point at my horns, at my claws, at the darkness that rolls through their camp. They watch helplessly as frost spreads towards them, forcing them to either run or die. 

I'm nearing the fort. I throw fire at the sentries. I blast the doors off their hinges with my wind. 

Some try to fight, but I am invincible. I block their arrows with my wind, freeze them in midair, turn them to ashes. I send bloodthirsty water wolves after them. 

Then I disappear altogether and winnow straight into Tamlin's room at the top of the tower. 

"Boys," I croon to the assembled advisors. "Could you give us a second?" 

They wisely make a quick exit, eyes wide and mouths clamped shut to cut off their screams. They reek of fear. 

My gaze turns to Tamlin who stands with his back to a window, hands limp at his sides. His blue eyes are shocked. His mouth is open.

"I'm home," I say, laughing. My voice is regal, cold. My mask as High Lady of the Night Court. I slip into it willingly. "What's the matter? You don't like it?" 

"Feyre...Feyre what are...what have..." He cuts himself off and just stares. At the tattoo. At the Illyrian fighting leathers. At the knives strapped across my hips. At the horns, the claws. His eyes land on the dark wings at my back. They fill with tears. 

"Oh Mother," he whispers. 

I flap them, creating a nice breeze that careens around the room. "Recognize these? I think I've seen them somewhere---your bedroom, perhaps? Is that what all High Lords do, Tamlin? Murder children and steal their wings?" 

"You know nothing about that night---about my father!"  

"Poor baby Tamlin," I simper. I click my tongue, voice hardening. "Made a plot to kill his best friend. And then when the friend doesn't show, he kill the family instead. You mutilated their bodies. You keep their wings pinned to your ceiling." 

He flinches. "How did you find those?" 

"I spied," I say simply. I prowl closer, wings bobbing and knives clinking. I've since out out the fire, fulling exposing the tattoo. 

"Feyre. What did he do to you? Come home. We can figure this out. This is just some sort of relapse..." 

I laugh again. It sounds like ice shattering. "He didn't do anything to me, Tamlin. If anything, he's the one that let me out of the  _prison_ you put me in. He thought I was capable of doing something to help. He thought I was powerful. So save your breath trying to convince yourself that I'm under a spell. That I didn't willingly leave you." 

"You--" 

"And I am powerful, you know. I am Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court." 

At my full title, rage contorts his features. "You are my  _wife_!"

"I am nothing of the sort and I will never be. I am not anybody's anything. I choose who I am and what I do. I am an Illyrian warrior. I am strong. I am powerful." 

"You are my wife," he says, his voice breaking at wife. He lurches forward, launching himself over the heavy wooden desk. His hand becomes claws as he slams me against the stone wall. His fingers wrap around my throat. "You are my wife. I gave you everything. I deserve you." 

I spit in his face. "You deserve  _nothing_. You sat by and watched me die, begging Amarantha to stop instead of just killing her. You did nothing when Rhys took me away the first time. You let this happen." I swallow, feeling my throat bulge against his palm. I can barely breathe. 

My hands are pinned to my side, my wings are crushed against the stone. My head is spinning. I bring my knee up and ram it into his groin. 

He stumbles back and doubles over in pain, tears streaming down his face. I kick him in the gut. I shove him over, watching him helplessly sprawl on his back. Then I climb onto his chest and break his nose. I winnow to the window, spreading my wings and blocking out the sunlight. I send wind rushing over him, taking away any breathable air. His face begins to redden, his eyes bulging. 

"I will never be the wife of a selfish male who almost kills his lover when she tries to refuse a marriage proposal," I growl. He flinches. I take away the wind and listen to him gasp and cough. 

"I will never marry someone who tithes his people within an inch of stability. Someone who murders innocents out of a sense of duty to a tyrannical father. Someone who, even after all this time, still thinks that he has _won_ me. That I am a prize that you can hold, a trophy to be polished and kept on a shelf." I reach out with Rhys's power, and hold Tamlin's mind in my hands. His very essence, his whole being is cradled in cold claws. 

The male I once loved has been reduced to a bloody, sniveling boy. He crouches on the ground, terror widening his eyes as he recognizes the power. 

"No," he whispers. His blood, his bones, his breath all yield to me. 

With one thought I could mist him. I could turn splatter him on the walls and make someone clean it up later. His eyes are locked on mine. His thoughts are racing, that mental shield completely shattered. 

"I thought you would have more fight," I hiss. My darkness cocoons the room. Cold. Lethal. This is the darkness where murderers are crowned. No stars. No moon. 

I look into Tamlin's eyes as he chokes out, "Please." 

"Let me go," I snarl. "I am not yours." 

He wags his head. "I love you Feyre." 

"You love the idea of me." 

Tears are streaking down his face, but my cheeks are totally dry. I've had a year and a half to realize this, to get used to this angst. 

" _Please_. Please don't kill me. Please." 

I squeeze ever so slightly on that mind, that essence. I feel his blood pulsing through his body, hear his frightened thoughts. Then I suck everything back. I take back the darkness, pull in the wings. I withdraw my claws, mental and physical. The horns sink into my head. Everything disappears until I am standing in Illyrian fighting leathers with a black tattoo curling up my arm. 

He stays crouched on the floor, total submission. 

"Don't come looking for me. If you do I will hunt down and kill every one of the soldiers you send until your last option is to come yourself." I smile humorlessly. "And you won't like what you find." 

Tamlin is shaking his head. "Please--where is Ianthe?" 

"Don't bother," I snarl softly. 

"Lucien?" 

I slowly shake my head, walking closer. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Tam." I let phantom claws scrape down his stubble. 

Then I winnow to the window. "Goodbye," I say. 

And I turn to stardust, wind, and citrus.  _My mate my mate my mate._


	23. 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre is finally reunited with Rhys. The Court of Dreams plans an assault on Hybern, one that will win the war.

I appear in the dinning room three minutes before Azriel stumbles in, holding up my mate. Those were the longest three minutes of my life. 

The universe seems to be holding its breath. No one has stirred since I appeared in the room. The wind hasn't dared to whistle. My eyes are fixed on Rhysand's bowed head as I cross the room in three strides. He has his arm slung over Azriel's shoulders, and blood is slowly soaking through the filthy tunic he wears. I want, more than anything, to kiss him and hug him and touch those wings, which are untouched. 

But instead I find myself saying, hoarsely, "Get him medical attention." 

If Azriel is surprised he doesn't show it as he winnows away to the townhouse where I suppose he'll put Rhysand in his bed before going to find the doctor. 

I turn back to the others. Their eyes are wide. Anxiety. Surprise. Hope. Fear. 

"What?" 

"Your...your hands," Elain whispers. 

I look down to find them stained crimson; my nails are crusted with dry blood and it has splattered my forearm like strange paint.  _Artist's hands._ I swallow the vomit that threatens to rise in my throat. 

"I--" 

"Feyre," Mor cuts me off. "Go. Wash. Be with him. We took care of this Court for fifty years without him. We can do it without you for one night." 

I try not to let that hurt. I'm inexperienced, sleep deprived, and covered in my ex lover's blood. I nod. Elain stands, skirts rustling as she comes to join me. 

"Let me help you," she says quietly. It's not a request. 

I glance at Lucien before we winnow and find his eyes trained on my sister's slowly disappearing back.  _He loves her. It's only been a week, but he loves her._

The town house is just as I remembered it. Red carpet. Wide, oak staircase. Bookshelves. I bypass them all as I climb the stairs with Elain, actually leaning on her for support. The white marble tub filled with water as I approach, and I half wonder if I did that with my powers. Then I notice Nuala standing by the knobs, her hand wet. The female smiles at me, and it reminds me so much of Alis that I start crying. 

Elain takes the lead. "Would you please give us a minute, Nuala? I'm afraid my sister is out of sorts." 

Nuala beams at my sister. "Yes, Elain, I will." To me she says, "Thank you for bringing him home, Lady." 

"Feyre," I croak. 

She nods understandingly, "Feyre." Then she disappears with a puff of cool, black mist. 

Elain helps me out of the soiled fighting leathers and into the tub. The night outside is inky, comfortable. Somewhere out there the rainbow is glowing. There will be dancing at Rita's. I watch the blood turn the water pink and scramble out. Wordlessly, Elain draws a new tub full. 

She washes my hair for me, something she hasn't done since we were children. "He'll be alright, Feyre. I know it." 

I mold water into animals, letting butterflies flap around the room. 

Elain coos. "Those are wonderful." 

"What if I took too long finding him?" 

"You took as little time as you could. And the Suriel...Lucien showed me a picture. That was very brave." 

I chew my bottom lip, tears still racing down my face. I think of the Spring Court boy, the two Faeries I'd killed Under the Moutain, and the Faerie I'd  _skinned_ before even crossing the wall. I imagine my mate in chains for days. Bleeding. Suffering. I imagine him lying in his bed, the life slowly leaking out of him.

"If he doesn't make it then it'll be what I deserve." 

And there it is. The reason I've not slept in a week. He's better than me. He doesn't deserve a shattered murderer. He deserves someone whole. Someone who can lift him up. 

I'm not whole. I was wrong. I'm back at square one. I'm not healing.

I feel the familiar darkness threatening to overtake my head. The same darkness that the events Under the Mountain had plunged me into in the aftermath. The never ending blackness of that cell. I'd never escaped. Never come close to getting out. I'd killed those innocent Faeries. I'd murdered them to save someone who didn't even fight for me in the end. I'd unknowingly _skinned_ a someone. I'd sold his pelt in the market place. I hadn't even learned the messenger boy's name. I am no better than Tamlin, no better than Ianthe, no better than Hybern. I am no better than Amarantha. A murderer, a thief, a whore. 

My breathing becomes staggered. Elain's fingers in my hair--I can't feel them anymore. 

The black is sweeping in, my vision narrowing on the silver faucet over steaming bathwater. I bring my knees to my chest, trying to stop the attack. Trying to do anything with my hands other than make more creatures. I don't deserve to be alive. I don't deserve to have these gifts. To have wind and water and fire bend at my will. To hold people's minds, to erase their memories, to walk in whenever I feel like it. I shouldn't glow, shouldn't have the power to blot out the sun. 

I. Am. Nothing. 

_No, I am Feyre Cursebreaker. I survived Amarantha. I survived the abuse. I made it out. I am powerful. I have a mate, an equal. I deserve him, we deserve to be happy. I am Feyre Crusebreaker, Defender of the Rainbow, High Lady of the Night Court..._

The smell of my own urine mixed with mud, cement, and mold overpowers the lavender soaps. My head jerks to the left. 

My voice slips away as Amarantha's voice whispers out of the darkness in my mind. 

I scream, "No! No go away!" 

It's cold, like winter wind and grows louder. As if she's getting closer.  _I won't ever go away, Feyre. Not really. I'll always be right inside your head._

My throat is closing up. I can't fight it. 

Someone is shaking my shoulders. Amarantha's voice vanishes, replaced by a gentle and sweet one. Elain. 

"Feyre," she's saying. "Feyre! Where did you go?" 

I open my eyes to find the water totally drained out of the tub. I'm on my side, nails sunk into my palms. Blood is coming out. My hair is still soapy. Elain is standing over me looking horrified. 

I shake my head, trying to sit up, trying to breathe.  _Real. The tub is real. Elain is real. I'm in Velaris. Rhysand is in his room. He is safe. I am safe._

"Turn around," she commands. "I need to get the soap out. Sit up. Focus on breathing." 

I do as she says, enjoying the sensation of water cascading down my spine. When my hair is clean, she dabs a wet towel against my cuts. 

"What happened," she asks. 

"I have panic attacks. I broke a guard's nose once." 

"Are those because of Under the Mountain?" 

"Yes." 

"Is that why you wouldn't let me go?" 

I nod, breathless still. "Yes. I didn't want you to end up like this. Broken." A thick silence falls over us. She helps me to the bed because my legs are sore and shaking. I fall on top of the mattress and burry my face in the pillows. 

"You deserve him, Feyre," she says as I slip away. "I know him. You deserve every inch of him, and he deserves every inch of you."

I wake twelve hours later. The sun is high. The birds are singing. The bond is thrumming.

I jump out of bed and dress quickly; black leggings, white shirt with sapphire colored buttons, and blue slippers. I don't bother with hair. At the sight of the tub, the memory of the panic attack rushes in. I shove it out. I sprint down the hall to his room, throw open the door, and startle the doctor that is leaning over the figure in the bed.

Black hair, not matted anymore. Golden skin. Bruises gone. Wings in their smokey shadow form, but very much whole.

Azriel takes one look at me and ushers the protesting doctor out.  

"Don't just stand there," are the first words he croaks at me after I've been away for months. 

" _Prick_!" I hurry over to the bed and climb right in, pushing pillows aside. 

He winces as he tries to sit up, and I move to sit beside him, facing him. The sheets drop, exposing a wide white bandage on his side.  

"The calf healed quicker." 

"Why didn't..." I point to it. 

"They stabbed it every time it tried." 

I wince, running a hand over it. His stomach is warm to my touch. I move back to the front, straddling him and sitting gone his thighs. I cup his face in my hands, turning it to get a good look. Those violet eyes sparkle, sending a sensation down my spine. He sees it on my face and smiles wickedly. 

"I want to do so many things to you," he whispers. 

"We can't," I say regretfully. "You're injured." 

"We can in a few days. Now that I'm all stitched up, the healing power should take over," he offers seriously. 

I laugh, a real one. 

"Did you give them hell?" 

"I burned the dining room to the ground and broke Tamlin's nose," I report. "I also might have stopped him from having kids ever." 

"Good girl. No one needs those wastes of oxygen anyway. Azriel said something about Ianthe being in Hewn City." 

"She's locked away. I wanted to wait to talk to you before I--." 

He nods, and I notice that his hair has gotten longer. I ruffle it, enjoying the soft, thick texture. "You need a haircut." 

"Would you like to give me one," he asks, eyes half closed. He watches me from under dark lashes. 

"Later." I watch his face, drinking him in. "I've missed you," I breathe. My eyes fill with tears. 

"I missed you. I was counting down the seconds until I called you home." He reaches up to cup my face. The calluses scrape my cheeks. My tears drip onto his fingers. "You are so brave, Feyre darling. So brave." 

I put my forehead against his and he presses his mouth feverishly to mine. His lips are cracked. "I love you," I whisper against them. 

"I love you," he says back. He goes to kiss me again, but I feel myself grow cold. 

I pull away, sighing. "I'm sorry...it's just...what I had to do..." 

"I didn't want to even hug  _Mor_ after I came back from Under the Mountain," Rhys tells me. "I understand. Take all the time you need, Feyre. I'll always be here. We have eternity, remember?" 

I smile, a giddy feeling filling my whole body. 

"There's that glow I've missed so much," he murmurs, touching my face again. 

For three days I let everyone rest. This war needs to end soon...but after the whirlwind we've just had some rest might be better. 

I spend every night with Rhys, just sleeping next to him. He wakes me from my nightmares, and I wake him from his. 

My days are spent in the city with Mor, looking at the damage that has been done from some other attacks. Thankfully, it's mild. A building crushed here. A dock destroyed there. Nothing compared to the Spring Court. Elain has started a project of putting together care packages to be shipped to the suffering villages in the Night Court. I send Lucien off to help her with that. 

"Those two," Mor says one day as the pair stroll along in front of us. "They look like a painting." 

Lucien stops to hold the door for Elain as they enter a gardening shop. He's smiling wider than I've ever seen. 

"Has she decided whether or not to return home," Mor asks. 

I shake my head. "Azriel picked up some news that tensions in the mortal lands are tough. He says that the Lord and Elain's fiance have joined the armies overseas." 

"In the absence of the queens there will be a scramble for power," my friend says. "Let's hope the right ones come out on top." 

I nod, thinking of our own war. 

When we get back to the townhouse, Rhys strides down the hall. He's fully healed, the doctor told us yesterday. He's back in his tailored black suits and has gotten a haircut. 

I smirk at him, "Are your sheets terribly stained?" Last night was...interesting. Let's just say my body overpowered any reservations my mind might have had...

"It's nothing that Nuala and Cerridwen can't handle." 

Mor clears her throat as we enter the small dinning room. In the week without Rhys, I hadn't even thought about coming to the town house. The idea of staying here without him makes me upset. I push it away and glance at my mate, making sure that he is actually there next to me. Smiling at whatever Cassian just said to Nesta. 

"So what are we going to do?" It's Azriel who asks. His quiet voice mutes all of the chatter and banter at the table. 

Cassian leans back in his chair, syphons flashing in the afternoon light. Nesta sits next to him, chewing the side of her mouth and watching him out of the corner of her eye. Mor takes a seat, reaching for the basket of bread at the center. I keep staring at Rhysand. 

"Not everyone at once," Rhys says, voice cutting the silence.  

"I don't know," Mor says. "I _want_ to launch a full scale attack. The last time we tried to be sneaky, we got caught and almost killed." Her eyes flit to Azriel and Cassian. "And we lost our High Lady." They land on me. 

Rhys nods. He looks to Cassian. 

"Our troops are ready. Wherever you need them." 

"How many," I ask. I think of Tamlin's depleted forces, his almost nonexistent navy. 

"Millions. We haven't used the full extent of our army yet," Cassian tells me. "We've been spying, fighting small skirmishes." 

"We thought it better to build up our forces and strike a killing blow. End the war once and for all," Rhys says. 

"Is that why you called me back?" 

My mate nods. Our bond is warm in my chest. It has been since we were reunited, and it got even warmer once he fully healed. I stroke it and watch him shiver almost imperceptibly. 

"We know for sure that the Cauldron is there," Nesta says with a glance at Amren. "With the book. We should strike now." 

Mor, chewing thoughtfully on her bread, has yet to chime in. "This seems like before. We were careful. We planned. And then it all went to shit." 

"It won't this time. We know what we're up against," Rhys says, calmly. "And Feyre has proven that she's strong enough to handle both the Cauldron and the Book." 

Mor nods and swallows. "Alright. I'm with you." 

"Is Elain coming?" Nesta is looking at Rhys as she says it, but her question is directed at me. 

I shake my head. "No. She volunteered to stay here. To help the people fortify the city." Since my attack in the bath, she's trained more and volunteered to go less. 

"I want to be able to defend myself...but you're right...I only want to handle battle if I have to," she'd told me. 

Rhys smiles tenderly. "She'll be a balm to them." 

"What about Lucien." Amren leans back and crosses her arms. The necklace that Varian gave her gleams from her chest. 

"He will stay with Elain. I can't risk having him killed or turning back to Tamlin." Rhysand glances at me. " _He_ will be there, you know." 

I nod, steeling myself against the sick feeling that rises in my stomach. "I'm ready. I want to see if I left a mark." He smirks. 

"Then it's settled," Amren stands, palms flattening on the table. "We gather our forces on the coasts, mostly undetected. We ship out, seven ships with one of us aboard each. We storm the island. We use the soldiers as a distraction. Feyre finds the Cauldron and book, destroys them both. We all make it home in time to have Jurian and the King of Hyber's heads mounted on over the fireplace before dinner." 

I laugh, breaking the shocked and disturbed silence that follows her words. Nesta scoots away from Amren. Cassian grins at Mor. Azriel rolls his eyes.

Rhysand adjusts his lapels casually, "Always one for dramatics, Am?" 


	24. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Mor, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel sail to Hybern. Rhys and Feyre go to find the Cauldron while the others take on the armies. 
> 
> They find the Cauldron...but they also discover two very old "friends."

I stand on the deck of a ship as it is rocked by choppy, black waves. They claw at the hull, spraying me with salty water. Sailors rush around behind me, our soldiers sing songs and tell stories below deck, and somewhere across those waters certain death awaits my friends and I. 

Hybern. The barren island with its crumbling bone colored castle. The ruddy faced, soot haired king with his hateful obsidian eyes. Jurian going mad over the disappearance of his lover. The Cauldron and the Book, their intoxicating presence and mad chattering. All of that awaits us as we draw closer and closer every second. 

I point my hands at each of the crisp, white sails and fill them with wind, hurrying us along.  _If I can't beat fate, then I'll speed it up._ I will have to hold that book again. I will have to get it out. Rhys will have to move the Cauldron. I can't imagine what will happen. Can't afford to. I need to keep focused. 

But I reach for the bond anyway out of gripping fear.  _Rhys. I'm scared._

 _Me too,_ is the answer. I turn my head towards his ship and see it bobbing along in the waves. 

_What if we don't nullify it?_

_Then we'll fight to the death to save our Court._

I nod in his direction, and somewhere deep inside I know that he's nodding back at me. Yes, we will fight until we draw our last breath. For each other. For the Inner Circle. For my sisters and Lucien. For Velaris. Even for Hewn City. 

_What if I have another attack?_

_I won't let you_. 

I chew my bottom lip, sending my jumble of feelings down the bond. 

_What if I can't find myself again?_

_I won't let that happen._ There's a pause.  _Tell me about painting,_ he says. 

_I haven't painted since the cabin..._

_Tell me how it felt._

_It felt like running backwards off a cliff. Painting is creating exactly what you saw in your mind's eye, so you have to totally abandon everything in the moment that you're in, and jump back into the image you kept. It was wonderful. Mixing colors and making the exact thing I saw..._

_Good. Just breathe, Feyre darling. We'll get through this._

Hours go by. The sky darkens, turning a sick shade of green. The clouds look like puffs of black smoke. Then the tang of magic overpowers the smell of salt and wind, and I see the island rising on the horizon. Bald hills. White cliffs. A dilapidated castle as the crown jewel. And in the center of that castle is a red beam pointing straight up, into the center of a funnel of black clouds. 

 _Follow that to the Cauldron, I'm guessing,_ I ask Rhys. 

_Most definitely._

"Captain," I call over my shoulder. "This is where I get off. Join the others." 

I feel black wings sprout out of my back. They fill with wind. I flap once, like I've seen Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel do millions of times, and I'm launched into the air. 

 _You look lovely with wings, Feyre darling,_ my mate says. 

I glance to my right and see him banking towards me, his own pair of wings stretched wide over the ocean. His hair is buffeted by the wind coming off the sea. His skin is again golden, his violet eyes almost sparkling. 

 _Thank you,_ I incline my head. 

"This way," he shouts over the squall of the wind. 

We lower towards the cliffs, landing on a narrow outcropping outside a dark and equally narrow tunnel. I melt my wings and draw two knives; both long and sharp and curved like claws. 

"Ready," Rhys whispers in my ear. 

I nod. He leads the way into the darkness. 

The smooth white sides of the tunnel curve into a ceiling so low that we have to stoop to walk. The smell of rotting flesh and magic fill our noses. 

 _When did you all find this,_ I ask silently. 

_A couple months ago. I'll give Azriel your regards._

We continue in silence disturbed only by our footsteps. The floor under our feet is smooth with a dark liquid stripe down the center. Sewage. In a few minutes it begins to steeply climb upwards. There is a soft glow at the end, peeking out of cracks behind a rough stone door. 

A screeching alarm that sounds suspiciously like a child wailing fills the tunnel. The ground begins to shake. Before I can react, Rhys shoves me against the door and curves over me, blocking any debris that might drop on top of us. When the dust clears, I see that our only exit is sealed. 

 _Now we'll have to do it the hard way,_ I complain. 

Rhys's chuckle vibrates in my head and down the bond. I smile at him, then kiss him. Because this might be it. We might get shot right on the other side of this door. He kisses me back, his hand going in my hair and up my spine. He pulls back and brushes the dirt off my face. 

 _Cruel, beautiful thing,_ he says. 

 _Illyrian baby,_ I say back. 

I try not to cry as I turn around and feel for a handle. There's a leather strap bolted into the stone. Carefully, I jerk it. A clap like two boulders crashing together fills the tiny chamber we're in as the door slowly swings back to reveal...

A kitchen. 

I frown, stepping into the yellow light. Someone was boiling meat at the stove. There are cards on the table. A few hats with money in them on the floor. A chair has been knocked over. 

"Must've left in a hurry," I murmur. 

Rhys follows me in, crossbow lifted and ready to fire at anyone that disturbs us. Suddenly, I feel that familiar tug on my brain. The Cauldron. It focuses me on a door at the far end of the kitchen.

"This way," I say. My mate follows me out of the kitchen and up a flight of cobwebby servants' stairs.

We climb for what seems like years. Outside, a battle rages. Soldiers yell and die. The wind roars and the sea continues to batter the cliffs. We just climb higher, following the tug of that monstrous pot and trying to ignore what could be our friend's final moments.

_They'll fight and die for nothing if we don't get to that Cauldron._

Finally, we stop in front of a simple wooden door. There's a slat in the center for someone to look out of and gray chains wrapped around the door handle. I touch them watching a web of blue ice cover the iron. They shatter. Rhys kicks down the door, crossbow already raised and pointed at Jurian's chest.

The human is crouched next to a dais, holding his own crossbow that is loaded with an ash arrow. I recoil at the sight of them, remembering Azriel's chest, Cassian's wings, and Rhys when I'd saved his life in the forrest. The Cauldron stands in the center of the platform, shooting the thin, blood red beam into the already poisonous looking sky outside. The Book is nowhere to be found. 

Jurian's head jerks up when we come in, and he fires at the wall next to my head. The arrow barely grazes my skin and lodges in the stone. A burning sensation spreads over my skin, but I ignore it. 

"Fool," he barks, voice sounding rusty. Every movement he makes causes his shackles to rattle. His hair is long and matted where before it had been crisply cut. His skin looks sallow from the green light outside. He is no longer handsome.

"Corpse," I snap. I narrow my eyes, pointing a finger at the arrow. It bursts into flame and crumbles into ash. "So the King _is_ using you after all? A sorry excuse for the guardian of the Cauldron." The thing in question thrums almost as if it is replying. Thanking me for the complement. 

Jurian's eyes widen and a sneer crawls over his face. "Are those the pretty magic tricks you used to frighten Tamlin? He said you were a demon. He begged us to go after you." He laughs; the sound is creaky and unnatural.  

"These are the pretty magic tricks I use to frighten _every_ enemy," I snarl quietly. "And the ones I use to mount their heads on pikes. I wonder how _yours_ will look." 

Rhysand laughs. "I don't know, Feyre, he looks a bit malnourished. Perhaps we should just burn his body instead?" 

"Perhaps I'll cut out his eyes and make him  _watch_ what I do to his body?" I slink closer, honed knife blades reflecting the green and black sky. 

 _Careful,_ Rhys drawls in my head. 

"I watched you in the trials," Jurian says breathlessly. "I saw how you threw that bone at her. How you fought for Prythian. I never imagined you'd grow up to be the spitting image of her." 

"I am worse," I croon. 

His crossbow jumps up and fires another arrow. I winnow out of the way just in time. It sinks into the wall behind me. Rhys wisely moves to the side. 

"You are the same. You even have her whore." 

I start to lash out at him with Rhys's power, but Rhys gets there before me. Jurian's face grows slack, eyes snapping to where my mate lounges in the shadows, picking his nails. 

"Careful, Jurian," he says calmly. "Don't tempt her. I don't have the energy to scrape you off the walls." 

Jurian laughs, dropping his cross bow and standing. His shackles jangle eerily. He is dressed in the rags of an ancient uniform, perhaps the one he wore when he fought in the last war. His feet are bare and boney. His hands are gnarled. Every vein shows. His teeth are chipped, as yellow as corn, as he throws his head back and laughs. 

He points a grubby finger at me, the nail bitten almost completely off. "You think you're any better!" He continues to cackle. "You think you're different! Think you're good? Why don't you ask _her_ how different you two actually are?" He breaks off into even stranger laughter. 

"What are you talking about," I hiss, knives ready to launch. I want to watch them sink into his papery skin. 

But measured steps sound in the hall. Heels. Clicking towards us. A pale, tall, shapely figure fills the doorway. It puts a hand on either side of it. Pale, creamy hands. A white face over a black dress looms out of the shadows. Red and golden hair. A golden crown. Ruby red lips parting to reveal white, straight teeth as she smiles at me. 

"Why! Hello, Feyre Archeron." Amarantha's eyes glitter gleefully as Jurian continues to laugh. 

I'm frozen. All of that power that I had thrumming through me moments ago is gone. My hands have grown limp, the knives clatter to the stone floor. The familiar darkness returns as I realize that this round tower is now a cell. I can't even feel the Cauldron's power anymore as Amarantha's gaze slides to Rhysand. Without a word, she advances on him and a golden dagger gleams in her hand. 


	25. 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amarantha is back. Feyre is scared. And Rhysand is being tortured. And Tamlin is...helping?

"No!" I scream and launch fire at Amarantha's head. 

She winnows out of the way as the ball of flames smashes into the wall. She laughs. "You've grown up a little, Feyre. I'm surprised you know how to wield that power." She throws her dagger at me instead, giving Rhysand time to scramble to his feet and fire his crossbow.

The witch doges the arrow and winnows. She appears in front of me, eyes gleaming, and shoves me into the wall. A loud crack sounds as my head smacks the stone. I fall to my knees. The world is spinning, and my ears are ringing. I grope for the knives I dropped, but something kicks them away. A silver high heel. 

In a flash, the shoes disappear and reappear in front of Rhysand. He howls in pain. 

My head spins. I sit back against the wall and watch as Jurain crosses to me in slow motion. Shackles are locked around my wrists. I don't have the energy to strain against the freezing metal. I can't remember how to winnow. I can't remember how to conjure fire, grow claws. All I can do is watch as Amarantha slashes her dagger across my mate's face. 

He cries out and pain shoots down the bond. It feels like my skull has been ripped open. My head is pounding. Something is leaking down the back of my neck. My hair is wet...no...my hair is...bloody....

Amarantha has Rhys's shirt off now and is dragging her dagger down the center of his chest, making a river of blood. It runs across his skin in strange patterns. Unearthly screams fill the chamber. More pain slashes down the bond. I convulse as a phantom dagger blade is sliced down my own chest. 

"Oh, Rhysand. All those years Under the Mountain, and you still thought you could win," she's saying. Jurian, somewhere next to me, is cackling. "You thought your little pet was powerful enough to stop this war." 

I inch forward, vision still swimming. I can see a dagger lying in a pool of green light. I reach for it. Jurian stomps his foot down on my hand. There's a snap and pain throbs from my fingertips to my wrist. 

On the other side of the room, Amarantha's red mouth is stretched wide in a scary smile. "I see." She clicks her tongue, turns back to Rhysand, and promptly breaks his hand. 

I scream as the phantom pain ricochets down the bond.  _She's going to kill us._ My vision is tinged with red as I try again to crawl for the knife. Rhys's head is lolling to the side, his eyes squeezed closed even as he tries to talk to me. 

"Feyre," he's shouting. "Feyre! Winnow!" 

But I can't remember how and I can't leave him here. My mate. My equal. My High Lord. My friend. He doesn't deserve to be tortured to death. My ears feel like they are filled with cotton wool. My mouth is dry. The wetness is still running down my neck even as my healing powers rush to mend it. 

The bond is flickering dangerously. _What happens when a mate dies?_ I push the thought out of my head and reach again with my broken hand for the knife.  

Amarantha snaps Rhysand's other hand.  Jurian kicks me in the stomach and dances around me, all the time singing a creepy and familiar song. 

_"But what did he do with her breastbone?_

_He made him a viol to play on..."_

The Weaver's song. 

He continues, watching Rhysand being tortured to death and laughing at his screams. 

"The most powerful High Lord in history, indeed," Amarantha hisses. She laughs. She spits in his face, watches it mingle with the blood. "You bleed like a  _pig_." 

She claps her hands together sharply. There are heavy feet on the stairs. Golden hair. A blond beard. Twin swords strapped to his back. 

"Yes, Lady?" 

"Ah good. Tamlin, take Feyre away to the dungeons. I want to have a quick word with her after I'm through here." Her hands are stained red. 

Tamlin's eyes find me in the room, surprise and sudden fear altering his features. 

"What? Can you not handle a simple  _girl_ ," the witch taunts. "Well, I should've known. If you couldn't run an army, how could I expect you to manage a foolish girl?" 

Tamlin gulps and dutifully crosses to me. He hauls me roughly to my feet. My head is spinning still, but my eyes are glued on Rhysand. 

"I'm coming back for you," I shout at him. He doesn't do anything, but the bond pulses. Fear and hope rolled into one. 

Amarantha laughs, "How touching." 

My eyes lock on hers. "I will meet you in hell. You have my word." 

Then I'm dragged away, my feet striking the hard stone steps that I'd climbed with Rhysand just thirty minutes ago. Tamlin pauses for a second, and then throws me into the nearest room. We must be right under the Cauldron's chamber. The bond is getting chilled. 

"Traitor," I snarl at Tamlin. 

He flinches, looking warily at my hands. "I'm just following orders." 

"You're committing double murder." I turn my back on him, not caring if he plunges his blade into my back. All is lost now. Depression crashes over me in waves like those below us. Outside the battle rages on. Trumpets blare. Swords clash. 

"Feyre. The stones are loose. You can get free." It takes me a second to register his quiet words over the pounding in my head. 

I whirl around. "How ironic!  _You_ setting  _me_ free. Either way I'll never be rid of the memory of this place. Of him. Of how he  _died_."

I stare at Tamlin, hating him. Loathing him. For allying with Hybern. For disregarding my PTSD, for locking me up, for abusing me. For killing Rhysand's family. For watching his former friend be tortured by the same woman who abused him for fifty years, the same woman who abused him, Tamlin, for three months.

"He is my mate! How could you ever think that I would be with  _you_ over my own mate?" 

Tamlin flinches again, tears filling his eyes. He wipes them away. "Please. Feyre. The stones. They're loose. They lead to a passage. If you get free you can save him." 

My lip curls. "And what do you want if I do take your advice? Your pretty priestess? Lucien?" 

He shakes his head. "I love you, Feyre. I don't want to see you die here. Like a rabbit in a snare." 

Shocked, I ball my hands into fists. "How  _dare_ you say you _love_ me?" 

"It's true!" He stalks close, eyes pleading with me. "I love you. I won't come looking for you. Please. Just. Get out of here." 

"I would rather die here." 

"That's not true. I can see it in your eyes." He stares me down calmly, warmly. "You're a survivor. You always have been. You _need_ to do this, and you have to. You can save Rhysand, save your sisters. You can help them out there. They need you. You're their High Lady." 

"You said it yourself, there are no High Ladies." 

"I stand corrected." He tries for a smile. The same one that used to melt my heart and make my toes curl. 

"Why are you helping me?" I've done nothing but use him for the past months; I've betrayed him to his enemy over and over again, and even broken into his mind. 

"Because it's too late for me to turn back. But you. You can do some good." 

I blink and my rage begins to fade. Above me, Rhysand screams. Then everything goes silent. The bond is barely flickering in my chest. I move forward and Tamlin stiffens as I hug him.

"Thank you," I whisper. He squeezes me once before I pull away. 

He puts a hand against the stones on the left wall and shoves. They crumble inwards revealing a dusty, cobweb filled passageway. I step forward, then look over my shoulder. Tamlin is already smearing grime on his face. He rakes his claws down the wall, emitting this awful noise. 

"I have to make it look real," he explains. 

I nod once, twice. Then I square my shoulders and plunge into the passage, following the sounds of my dying mate. 


	26. 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre finds the Book of Breathings. She masters it and the Cauldron, and uses it to heal her entire army's wounds which includes Cassian's wings, Azriel's still healing chest, and Rhys's many injuries. They can now win the fight. Now it's time to deal with Amarantha.

The passage is dark. I unleash my glow as I walk, and I freeze the metal shackles off my wrists. My hand and head have started to mend. The ringing in my ears has stopped, intensifying the sounds of Rhys in pain. My heart thuds, one mental hand on the bond and one reaching for his mental shields. 

_I'm coming I'm coming hold on._

My feet strike a step, and I follow them up. Knocking cobwebs aside, I cough from the dust that rains down from the ceiling. I can hear Amarantha's voice now, and Jurian singing. I must be on the other side of the wall. 

Suddenly, I feel a familiar sensation--not the Cauldron---the Book of Breathings. I pause. I could blast through this wall, kill Amarantha and Jurian and winnow away with Rhys. We could try another time. 

Or...I could get the Book and finish this. 

Memories of what happened last time flash through my mind. The blood rolling out of my nose. The feeling that I couldn't control them...

But I would have to. For Rhys. For Mor and Azriel and Nesta and Cassian. So Amren could go home. So the world could be right again. 

I turn away from the wall of stone and pound up the stairs, forcing my glow to become bright as day. The closer I get to it, the more I want it. Need it. I can hear its mad chattering though I'm not even holding it. 

I slam into a wall. I barely register it. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins now. Get the book. Control the cauldron. Destroy the King of Hybern and all of his stupid lackeys. I feel for a door, a crack, a lever. My fingers brush across a tiny hole the size of my thumb. I stick it inside, pushing something down until I hear the sound of rock grating on rock. The door slides open to reveal an office. 

I feel my claws slice out of my hand as I step through. There's a wooden floor covered with a tattered, once ornate rug. A heavy wooden desk. No bookshelves. Stone windows with no curtains looking out onto the sea, the cliffs, the battle. And in the center of everything is an iron music book holder with the Book of Breathings forced open to a certain page. There's a door to my left, along the rounded walls. Wooden yet white, like bone. Below, there is screaming. Rhys's screams. 

The door to my left opens just as the passage entrance behind me shuts. I leap to the opposite side of the room. 

"Welcome, Feyre Archeron," says a familiar voice. 

The King of Hybern, angry obsidian eyes staring at me like a lion stares at a lamb, swaggers in. He wears tattered purple robes with snow leopard fur trim. "What a pleasant surprise!" 

I watch him cross the room and pick up the Book of Breathings like it has no effect over him. The whispering in my head becomes a satisfied purr. Below us, Rhys's screams have grown faint though they are still loud...

 _Hold on,_ I beg him.  _Please._

"It is polite to speak when spoken to." 

I stare at him, feeling my face grow hot. I need that book. I edge to the door. _But I don't know what it's done to him...I don't know how this works. I'm out of my element. Again._  A choking feeling works its way into my throat. 

"Speak," the king barks, losing his patience with me.  

"I don't elect to  _speak_  to men who order me around," I snarl. My mind whirls. I need to get that book without him raising an alarm. 

He smiles indulgently. Like a grandfather giving sweets to an insolent child. "You have such a pretty voice, my dear. Amarantha never mentioned that." 

"Did she also fail to mention that she died because of me?" 

"Yes, I believe so. How _is_ your friend by the way? The winged one?" My rage jumps higher, like flames leaping up curtains. 

"Perfectly healthy, thank you." I stare at the book. It starts to whisper again. Softly. 

 _Pretty_ _girl. Soft girl. Hello liar. One of many faces, many talents. One who joined us again. Yes, come hold us._

The King looks down at the book cradled in his arms in surprise. _So he can hear it too_...

I take that as my opening. I launch two fireballs at the king, and watch those tattered purple robes catch fire. He stumbles backwards, brows knitted together, as he tries to figure out where it came from. But I'm too fast. I've made it across the room in seconds, just by walking. I grab his shirt, slicing through it with my claws and shove him against the window cill. His torso bends back as he dangles over the sea and battle raging below. Rhys's screams are gone, replaced only by slight grunts. I can feel the bond growing cold.  _He's loosing too much blood._

 _Shit_. 

I glare down into the King's face as he tries to spit in mine. It just dribbles down his chin and plummets to the ground below. I shake him and watch his eyes fill with panic. Sweat rolls down his face from the fire creeping up his robes. I douse them with water before I catch myself on fire, too. 

"I don't understand--the wards. They should have worked," he exclaims. 

I shrug. "I'm glad they didn't." 

The King gives me a nasty look, but his eyes are sliding to the side. Gauging the distance. 

"I wouldn't look down, _dear_ ," I say. "It's a long drop." I shake him again, just for effect. Everything in me is telling me to let go. Let him splatter on the ground. But I know exactly who would come after me if I did that. 

My own sister would never let me hear the end of it. I remember that finger pointed straight at him. I smile, cruelly. "Please hand me the book before this gets very messy." 

"Messy for you I assume?" 

"You're the one drooping...mmm...600 feet," I say sweetly. 

His eyes jerk to the side even as he says, "I can survive that." 

I laugh. "Sure. Please. Give me the book." 

His eyes meet mine. I give him another shake and slide him slowly out the window. Just enough so that only his legs are still inside. I'm loosing my grip on him. 

"No." 

"Fine." I haul him back inside and swipe my claws across his face, leaving it bloody. I grab the book out of his sweaty hands and set it aside before shoving him across the room. He flips over the desk and lands on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. I rake my claws down his chest, tearing his shirt and leaving tiny rivers of blood. He struggles and screams in pain. I break his hands with my own, feeling every bone snap. Then I walk over to the iron holder and melt them into handcuffs. I slap them around his wrists and then cuff his ankles for good measure. I slide open the secret panel, pick him up, and drop him inside. 

"I'll send Nesta to collect you. She'll be  _so_ happy to see you again," I say. 

His eyes flash. 

"Oh you'll remember her when you see her, I'm sure." 

Then I close the door, leaving him in the dark. Rhys's grunts are still loud. I knit my brows together, going towards the tattered rug. It would take too long to go back down the passageway or out the door...but what _if_...

I push the desk back and turn over the rug. There, set deeply in the floor, is a square hatch with a silver handle. I grab the book, its whispering filling my head until my own voice has to shout, and throw open the hatch. 

I drop straight down onto Jurian's upturned face. A loud, hair raising crack fills the room. I turn, the Book clutched in my hands, to see Amarantha still standing over Rhys. Her eyes are filled with surprise as if she never expected to see me again. And then there's Tamlin standing in the doorway, looking both pleased and worried. 

I don't dare look at Rhys. The faint pride in the bond tells me he's still alive, even if his body does look lifeless. 

"Surprise," I announce. Only Jurian laughs. I whirl on him and send a block of ice hurtling for his head. It catches him in the throat and knocks him backwards against the wall. He doesn't get up, just stays still, watching me through defeated eyes over his broken nose. He whimpers. 

Amarantha's voice curls across the room. "Yes, it is a surprise to see you again, my dear." She glances at Tamlin. I send ice shooting towards her until her feet are frozen in three foot blocks. She stares at them. 

"I'll deal with you later," I snarl. "Tamlin close the door." 

He obeys, shuffling by Amarantha with unmasked pride on his face. Once the door is shut, I melt the handle and the lock itself. There are no exits save for the windows behind me that lead to a 600 foot drop and the hatch above me. No ladder. Tamlin wisely creeps as far from Amarantha as he can. 

Her lip has curled to reveal those beautiful teeth. "What are you going to do now, Feyre?" 

"Knock you out." I throw Rhys's power at her and her body crumples forward to the floor. I watch her head smack the pavement with some sick satisfaction before turning to the Cauldron. 

The Book of Breathings's whispers have grown into shouts now. I can feel Tamlin and Jurian watching, but it's as if I'm under thick glass. I step closer to the black pot, watching the red beam soaring into the sky. Strange and wonderful power is flowing through me with no end or beginning. I feel as old as bedrock and as new as a dandelion sprout. I am the constellations in the sky, the roaring winds, the deep sea. The human heartbeat. I am everything and nothing. I am life and death. 

My eyes are fixed on the Cauldron as I open the book. Tamlin shouts something, but I can't hear it over the Book's murmurings. Looking down at the ancient text, I find that I can read it. I can understand it. My vision is growing dark. I'm not going to be strong enough. My task bobs before me in an obsidian sea. I splash towards it, but it's me against this Book. Me against the powerful thing that life supposedly spilled from eons ago. I reach for it, but it feels like swimming in gelatin. 

I feel old memories bumping against me. Old thoughts. Old plots to books that I read...even now as I...as I'm dying I suppose. I can only see the Cauldron now. Amarantha, Rhys, Tamlin, and Jurian have all faded to black. It's just me, the Book of Breathings, and the Cauldron...and I'm not going to be enough. 

_You need. Another._

The thought blows in out of nowhere. I latch onto it. It sounds familiar...like something I've---YES. 

 _I need another's immortality. To control it. I need. I need another to do this spell._ I remember reading that the night I found that I could send Amren home. 

I try to send the thoughts down to my mouth. I feel my jaw opening and closing, like a rusty hinge. "Too strong. I need...I need more..." I turn, as if in slow motion, to Tamlin. 

Golden hair. Blue eyes. My first love. My heart breaks as he nods. He steps forward and takes my hand. 

Electricity flows from his fingers to mine. My head clears. I banish the whispers that crowd my head. I force the black waters to dry up, to whirl down a drain like bath water. I beat back the blackness around the edges of my vision until I can see the whole room again. 

I glance at Tamlin and see that his face is slack, his eyes unfocused. His mouth is wide open in a silent scream. 

I turn my gaze to the book.  _I am your master now,_ I tell it. The faded whispers stop altogether. 

I turn the pages, letting them slither through my fingers until I find the spell I'm looking for. Healing. A healing spell for my army. For Cassian. For Azriel's chest. For my mate.

The words sound odd, but somehow I pronounce them perfectly. There's a flash of light. The sound of a hammer on a gong. Someone screams---it's me. I'm screaming.

I'm thrown backwards off my feet. I can't see. I scream again. I rub my eyes. The world is a swirl of colors. A dark shape is bending over me. Golden hair...long...curls...

Everything comes into focus as if some one has hit fast forward. Mor is staring at me, face blotted with blood and dirt and sweat. To my left, Tamlin is limp. Jurian is too. Rhys is unconcious totally now. Someone--Azriel and Cassian---are lifting him up. I don't see Amren.

Amarantha's eyes are open again, and she's trying to rise to her feet. The blast must have melted the ice. 

Mor backs up as I feel my adrenaline pumping again. Amarantha. The one who started it all. I jump to my feet, fire and ice already roaring in my veins. 

"Move," I command. "I'm going to kill her." Darkness explodes from every pore as a thunder clap shakes the chamber. 

 


	27. 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre destroys Amarantha using all of her powers at once to make sure that there is nothing left of her. Mor takes the Cauldron. Tamlin grabs Jurian. Everyone winnows home.

Red hair. Creamy skin. It's real and it's standing in front of me, shocked at the darkness that ripples off of me in full force. After all of these months of attacks, all of these months of being afraid of the dark...

I'm the one that controls it. I am the master of the Book of Breathings. The Cauldron. I am Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker. Defender of the Rainbow. Made Under the Moutain. And I am going to defeat this witch, this absolute demon.

Cassian and Azriel melt away, taking Rhys with them. I watch him disappear. The bond glows with pride and joy. He's alive. 

I imagine torturing Amarantha the way she did Rhys. Bloody and gory. Dirty. I imagine how she tortured Clare Beddor. I imagine burning her and freezing her. Crushing every bone in my hand with Rhys's power. Misting her. Taking her breath away with wind. Drowning her with watery wolves the size of the one I'd skinned. Perhaps even a familiar Wyrm instead...

I reach out and hold her still with Rhys's power. 

"Going to kill me, are you Feyre?" 

"Oh, yes," I say causally. "Perhaps I'll save an eye and make you  _watch._ " 

It would be so easy. To make her suffer. But...

She recoils. "You don't really want to do that, do you? Kill me?" 

"It will be my pleasure."

 

"Go to hell," she whispers, eyes darting from side to side. I scrape those claws over her brain. 

I snort. "You first."

Without warning, I throw every bit of my power straight for her chest. Flame and ice and wind and darkness and light, swirling together in a beam from my palms to the plunging V of her dress. There's a flash and a roar and a blood curdling scream that I will never forget.

The chamber quakes dangerously, but I won't leave until I know for sure that she's dead. That there is _nothing_ left. Nothing that they can bring her back with. 

"Get the Cauldron," I command Mor. She nods curtly.

"Get Jurian," I snap at Tamlin. My eyes comb the wall, the ground. 

Mor stands still, watching me.

"Go," I shout at her. 

The chamber is going to collapse. The whole dilapidated castle is going to collapse.

I look back at the spot where Amarantha was standing and find nothing. Not even a trace of the melted crown. There is no blood. Nothing. Just a slightly smoking spot.

I step up to Tamlin who is holding Jurian's collapsed body in his arms. Without a word, I grab his wrist and winnow with him just as the first stone falls from the ceiling. 

 


	28. 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian, his wings fully healed, winnows back to end the battle with Nesta. Now Feyre has to figure out what to do with a mortal Tamlin, newly crowned High Lord Lucien, and a certain priestess.

As soon as the world materializes around me I say, "Where is Rhysand?" 

"Taken to the hospital wing for a check up." Mor is staring at Tamlin. "But whatever you did with the Cauldron healed them. All of them." 

"And the Cauldron and Book?" 

"Safe," she says menacingly. Her eyes are still glued on Tamlin, who shuffles his feet a bit. Jurian groans. 

I find Cassian. "Your wings...?"

He opens them wide, the membrane smooth and void of any markings whatsoever. He smiles at me and inclines his head gratefully before clearing his throat. "Thank you Feyre. Now. I'm going to see if your sister needs any help winning this battle...the last time I checked she was a match for the whole army." 

I snort as he disappears, glancing at Mor. "Are they..." 

She's still staring at Tamlin, so the question dies on my lips. I turn to look at him, too, standing there with a broken Jurian in his arms. Gold hair, check. Blue eyes, check. Tanned skin, check. Swords, check...wait. My eyes flit back up to his hair where I find two rounded ears poking out from beneath. 

"Cauldron boil me."  _He's human._ And then I think,  _Well of course he's human. He gave up immortality to save Prythian. To save...me._

He shrugs, carries Jurian over to the couch, and gently sits him down. 

"Tamlin...thank you," I say. "Thank you for saving Prythian...and my life." 

He only bows his head. 

Mor shakes hers, "So now what?" 

It's my turn to shrug. I look around at the assembled people. Azriel with his two blue siphons glowing. Amren, covered in dirt and blood. Lucien, his gaze trained on his now former High Lord. Elain, wringing her thin hands and opening her mouth. 

"Tell them Lucien," she whispers. Her eyes dart to his scarred face. 

He takes a deep breath. "Before you all came back...I...something happened. I passed out...and when I woke up..." He trails off looking pained. "See?" Then he flexes his hands. Claws shoot out. Tamlin's claws. 

"How," I ask. 

"When a High Lord dies, his power passes to his next son. The most powerful one, usually. Since Tamlin has no heirs..." Mor trails off and stares at him. 

"It passed to Lucien," Tamlin finishes. His voice is hoarse. He's looking at his hands as if he's never seen them before. His shoulders are slumped forward. 500 years of being 25 has done him in. 

"Correct," someone purrs.  

I turn slowly to see Rhys strolling towards us fixing his lapels. He winks at me. "Thought you'd gotten rid of me, did you, darling?" 

 _Prick!_ "Not for a moment. You're too annoying to die that easily." 

"Quite right," he purrs. His violet eyes caress me for one moment before darting to all the others. "So you are now mortal. Lucien is now High Lord of the Spring Court. And you, my dear Feyre, have saved Prythian yet again. We'll have to make it harder for you next time." 

I roll my eyes. "Please don't. Not for a million years and then some." 

Rhys grins, eyes flickering. 

"So what do we do now?" 

"First, please get that filth off of my couch before we need to burn it." Rhys points a finger at Jurian who has groggily sat up since Tamlin put him down. 

Azriel moves forward and quickly scoops him up before the rest of us can move. He disappears, probably to put the prisoner next to Ianthe below Hewn City.  _Prisoner. One of two that I've taken._

My mate looks at me again, eyes glowing. "Now. Please take a seat everyone." 

It's Tamlin versus the rest of us, I can already tell. The Inner Circle seat themselves around Rhys, leaving a high backed chair for me. Lucien wisely takes a spot next to Tamlin, and Elain next to him.

"You know how this works," Rhys says to Tamlin. 

He nods. 

"You will either stand trial in Hewn City, and most likely be hung. Or. We can banish you quietly to the human realm since," his eyes swoop over the former Faerie. "Since that is where you belong now." 

At this, Tamlin's eyes light up just a bit. He stares at my mate. "You would let me go?" 

Rhysand shrugs. "You are no danger to this court any longer. Not with Feyre darling in control of the Cauldron, the king on his way to being executed by her very capable sister, and your emissary in control of the Spring Court. No, I'd say that your threat, your little love affair with Hybern has well and truly crumbled." 

Tamlin bristles. "I did it to save my Court. And--" he stops abruptly and looks at the table. 

I bite back any response I would have. He did it to save me. From the High Lord of Darkness. The Prince of Death and Destruction. I shake my head instead and gaze off into the rocky, snowy peaks.  _I'm tired._

Of fighting and clawing for peace. Of blood and horns and the Cauldron's babbling. I want to get in bed and have a long, long rest. Maybe a whole fifty years. 

I stroke the bond,  _Tamlin should be sent to the continent._

_Quite right._

I look at Tamlin. "My father is a wealthy merchant in the mortal lands, as you know. You may stay with him until you find somewhere else. The continent is preferable." 

His blue eyes lock with mine. After all that he did for me--and all that he did _to_ me--this is the most I can give him. He gives me a resigned nod. 

"For now," Rhys breaks our silent conversation, "we will put you in custody of the Spring Court." 

"I thought you said that I wasn't a threat!" 

It is Amren who holds up a pale hand, "Relax. It's just to make sure you don't do something pig headed." 

"Correct," Rhys agrees. Mor and I nod. Even Elain purses her lips. 

Lucien gazes at his friend. "I will take care of it." It meaning the Court they both served time for Under the Mountain. It meaning the Court Lucien almost got crushed to death for. 

"Thank you." 

"Alright. The both of you are dismissed. Amren, take Lucien and Tamlin to the other dining room. I'm assuming they want to make some plans." 

"I will go, too," Elain says. She stands, skirts swirling down to her ankles. She notices my smug look and scowls at me. "To keep the peace." 

Amren snorts as she leads them away. 

"What happens now," I ask Rhys. 

He looks disgusted. "Now we talk to our favorite priestess." 

A cold stone drops into my stomach and spreads chills over my spine and bones. Ianthe. Rotting in that cell for almost three weeks. I take a deep breath and focus on my mate. 

"Shall we?" 

 _That's my girl,_ he purrs. 

Rhys makes me change before we go. Just to drive home the message of 'warrior queen'. I walk into my room to find a dress made of steel gray with strands of sparkling diamonds that run from top to bottom. It drops over my head and sits easily on my shoulders, darts in at the waist, and then floats perfectly down to graze the floor. The whole effect is that I am made from steel and starlight. The crown jewel of the Night Court. Or her idea of it. 

When I rejoin him in the sitting room he whistles and then presents me with a velvet box. Opening it, I find a delicate circlet of gold and silver woven in and around one another. The metal is flecked with pearl and forms a sharp V that plunges down to a point in the center of my forehead. There sits a sapphire of the palest, loveliest color. This crown is the exact twin to the ring I pulled out of the Weaver's den.

"It's beautiful."

He gives me a kiss, drowning out the fears that had risen into my mind while I was getting dressed. He settles the circlet on my hair, quickly untying the braid and letting my wild, crimped mane loose.

"Cruel, beautiful thing," he murmurs. I smile.  

We winnow into the cavernous dungeons under Hewn City. Somewhere above us, a party is raging. The echoes of wild drums and strange trumpets fill the air as we walk. 

"You're  _so_ taking me dancing after this," I mutter.  

"First we nap." 

"Yes," I agree. "Nap." 

Nap for eternity in each others arms. Warm and safe and strong. 

The dungeons here are different from Amarantha's crude models Under the Mountain just as Hewn City is different from the decrepit caves. They are more ornate. Carvings of beasts being crushed by other beasts make up the columns that hold up the curved ceiling. Everything is black and glittering, as it should be, except for the floor. That is made from blood red stones. The corridors and cells are lit with Fae lights that bob in strange, glass bulbs cradled in the silvery claws of monster shaped candelabras. 

I follow my mate through what I thought would be a raucous prison, filled with the Night Court's worst fiends. But almost all of the cells are empty save the few that are behind gleaming doors made of smooth obsidian. Large silver keyholes are fixed in the center of each one. 

"Who has the keys?" 

"Amren. She made them into lovely necklaces." 

I get the message. _Those who go in do not come out._

Is this where I had banished Ianthe? Is she behind one of these doors that are so polished I can see my reflection in them?

We begin to curve down inside the mountain. The wild drum beats begin to fade and fade until finally we're walking along in silence. I pull at the dress I'm wearing, wondering if it is too much. Though I do match the decor...

Finally Rhys stops before a narrow doorway filled with iron bars. A cell. The smell of urine permeates the air. "It's been a long time since I threw you out on your ass." 

Someone stirs in the back, and then out of the gloom comes Ianthe. Her hair is dirty, her robes are soiled, and that charming face of hers has lost its youthful vigor. Her blue eyes are dull as they stare at me with unconcealed malice. Even the tattoo of the moon's phases are drooping. 

"You've looked better," Rhysand drawls, prowling closer to the cage. 

Suddenly, Ianthe rushes forward and throws her body against the bars with a howl. Her pale hands reach out for Rhys's dark suit, her chipped and broken nails clawing the empty air. "How  _dare_ you keep me here! In this  _filthy_ place!" 

"We are not here to converse with prisoners," I snarl quietly. 

Ianthe sniffs. "Then what are you here for? Going to murder me now? With those wicked powers of yours?" 

I shake my head. "No. I'm going to let you stand trial in your home Court." 

Her eyes widen slightly, and I can see the tiny veins popping. "No..." 

"Oh yes. You see, we can't have a proper trial here," Rhysand says. "Since you aren't a _member_ of this Court." 

"No no just set me free. Please. Just let me go home." Back to wherever she'd vanished during Amarantha's reign of terror. To plot and fortify herself before returning and wreaking havoc. 

"Why? Because you know that they will find evidence against you," I ask.  

"Yes," she breathes. Her voice cracks and tears flood out of her eyes. She wails for a few seconds...then her face clears. She giggles to herself even as the tears race down her cheeks. 

Three weeks in this place has already turning her mad...

"My mate will help me." She nods resolutely. "He's always been so kind. Even if he didn't accept the bond." Her gaze rests on me again, her lip curling nastily. 

Rhys stalks closer. "Mate?" 

"Yes. The High Lord of the Spring Court. Tamlin. My mate." 

And suddenly everything makes since.  _She was his spy. His equal in every way. Even in beauty. Made of the same material...concerned with the same things._ The look they had shared between them that day that Tamlin had let me go to the battle field flashes through my mind. Mate between mate. She was cunning, ruthless for power. He was a man breaking under his power's strain. Together they could have ruled side by side.

 _There are no High Ladies,_ Tamlin had told me.

I watch her swinging on the bars like a child. 

"We knew the moment I stepped into the mansion the first day back. In the months after Amarantha. But he wanted  _you._ His prize. His beautiful baby-making artist bride. The one who saved Prythian blah...blah...blah," she breaks off into a snort followed by a few giggles. "But now he knows. Definitely knows about  _you_ two." 

Now it's my turn to laugh. I can feel it bubbling in my chest and my throat and my veins. I point at her, actually come close to her, and laugh right in that beautiful face. 

"I hate to tell you this, Ianthe, but Tamlin is no longer High Lord of the Spring Court. He's mortal. And he's been banished from Prythian for the rest of his days." 

Shock makes her go rigid. She stops swinging. All feeling drops from her face and shatters at her feet. Her knuckles turn white on the bars. "Liar," she hisses. 

I am smiling broadly now. "Isn't that just  _grand_?" 

Rhys is smart enough to pull me back from the cage as Ianthe erupts into hysterics. She pulls her hair, yanking fist full after fist full of gold out. She presses her fists into her eyes until I'm afraid she might poke them out. And all the while she screams. 

 _I hate screaming. I've had enough for today._ Amarantha. Rhysand. The King of Hybern. Now this sniveling rejected priestess. 

At once I grab her by the throat with Rhys's power. "Save it for later. You'll need it." I come closer, and Rhys backs away. He settles himself on the wall, cat like eyes watching as I shake her by her throat. "We are handing you into the custody of the High Lord of the Spring Court. Lucien. And you'd better  _pray_ that he is _civil_  to you." 

I let her drop to the floor gasping. I look at my mate, long and dark and lean against the obsidian wall. 

"Let's go home." I offer him my hand. 

Without looking back, we winnow away from Ianthe for the last time. 


	29. 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre uses the Cauldron’s power to free Amren, and to create a portal back to her realm. When the portal is closed, the Cauldron is destroyed and the Book of Breathings is separated again.

Amren, Rhysand, Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and I stand on a plateau deep in the mountains. Spring is slowly creeping in; young wildflowers are sprouting, brilliant blue skies stretch overhead, and twittering birds sing robustly from every tree. Spring here is different from the saturated foe season in the Spring Court. It's cooler. More wild. I breathe in the scent of gorse hedges. It's been three months since the defeat of Hybern. 

In front of us on the flattened ground sits the Cauldron, bubbling and boiling the white supernatural waters within. We've made a semi circle around it with me in the center holding the Book of Breathings. Amren is to my left and Rhys is on my right. Now that I have mastered the Cauldron with Tamlin's immortality combined with mine, these next steps shouldn't be too hard. 

Mentally and physically.

Emotionally though...

We watch the sun crawl high overhead, a yellow diamond in a sapphire sky. Finally, when it is directly over the Cauldron, everyone looks to me. 

"Amren, are you sure you want to do this," I whisper carefully. Nerves make my hands shake as I open the book.  _Hello liar,_ it purrs.  

My friend's ancient, quicksilver eyes bounce back and forth between everyone. We've already said our tearful goodbyes this morning...but...

A tear, so fast that I almost don't register what it is at first, escapes from her eye and dashes down her cheeks. 

"I will miss you all. Thank you for being so kind to me for all these years. Thank you for giving me a home and a family. And thank you, Feyre, for finally releasing me." Her voice is cool, her every word calculated. She's working hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. She looks at us all one last time. Her voice shakes as she says, "Let's do it." 

"Step into the Cauldron," I say. Already, my voice is tinged with the Book's own eerie sound. 

Amren obeys, her simple flats disappearing in the swirling white waters. 

"Submerge yourself." 

I watch, almost detached, as her shift dress disappears under the bubbles followed by that cunning face and the sleek bob. I gulp, looking down at the Book in my arms. My vision is blurred by tears and the cosmic power flowing through me. I blink and watch the tears fall onto the pages. Steam rises into the air. 

I flip to the spell, the Book whispering in my head all the time. Not chaotically. Just talking. My mouth moves smoothly, pronouncing every strange world correctly and efficiently. 

The Cauldron quakes and its waters change from white to blood red. Someone--Cassian--swears. I feel Rhys put a hand on my forearm. I finish the spell, the last word dropping into the air like a stone. There is a tense silence as we all stare at the now calm waters. I can scarcely breathe. 

Then there's a crimson explosion. I'm thrown backwards, rolling end over end away from the pot. I clutch the Book to my chest, trying to think. The steam clears. Someone--Mor--screams. I push myself up on my elbows. 

There, curling around the Cauldron is an enormous Firedrake. It has steel gray scales like chainmail. Two hind legs bulging with muscles protrude from its haunches, and instead of front legs there are huge leathery wings that look almost opaque as the sun shines through them. Claws sprout from the apex, silver. A silver horn curves up from its nose. Quicksilver eyes stare at us in turn, blinking. Black, shiny spikes extend from its head to the very tip of its tail. 

"Amren," I breathe. 

She roars, shooting a jet of fire into the air. Every move she makes is calculated yet graceful, though those legs should be anything but. 

This explains the jewels. The goat's blood. The ancient eyes.  _Tiny ancient one._ _Tiny indeed._

The others watch in awe as I stand and limp back to the Cauldron. The Drake inclines her massive head, eyes studying me. 

I reach out and touch her horn. "Are you ready to go home?" 

Amren nods once, eyes closing. A sigh of air from her nose blows my hair back from my face. I step back, raising the book again. 

The spell is shorter. Faster. 

There's a loud crack, like a cymbal crescendo. A beam of bright yellow light shoots out of the Cauldron and into the air, slowly expanding the way flames expand across the middle of a paper. There, shimmering in midair, is a tear in our reality. On the other side there are rocky mountains much like these. It's night there; moonless and void of any stars. Amren lets out a low growl that might have been a purr. 

She looks back over her shoulder at us. A low rumble sounds in her throat. And then she steps through the portal. It immediately sews itself together, and we're left staring into space where our friend had just stood. 

I realize that I'm crying as the Cauldron gives a shudder. Already her absence feels like a weight upon my shoulders. Looking around, I see that my friends are experiencing the same thing. Rhys walks forward and takes the Book carefully from my hands. He pulls me into a hug. 

For one long moment we stand there in silence, mourning her absence. Then I pull away. There's still a Cauldron to be destroyed, a Book to be separated. 

"Rhys?" 

He nods. "Azriel please take the Cauldron to the agreed spot."

I'd told him that I didn't want to know what they did to it. I just wanted it gone. But the book...that would be more difficult. 

Then he slips his arm through mine, "Feyre darling and I are going to have the Book separated. We'll see you for dinner." 

They nod as we disappear into darkness and starlight. 

The priestess who agreed to separate the Book of Breathings is nothing like Ianthe, and I thank the Mother for that. She has mousy brown hair and lake colored eyes; green and glassy. 

"Welcome," she coos. 

Without a word, Rhys hands over the Book. She nods cordially and leads us into a back room, away from the quiet worship chamber. 

"Please, sit down." 

I settle onto a lounge chair with Rhysand right beside me. 

"Is it going to hurt her," he rasps. 

"It might. Hold her tightly. One who has become the master of the Cauldron and Book will not find being separated from them comforting."

I imagine the pain I felt when the King of Hybern ended my bargain with Rhys. I wince. 

She takes the book to a table covered with gauzy purple cloth and carefully opens it. She pulls her hood over her eye and takes out a golden utensil. She turns to the exact center of the book and begins murmuring a spell while bobbing the pointed stick like someone sewing. Ribbons of light begin to follow the point. 

Suddenly, I feel sweat drip down my back. Pain like no other radiates outward from my spine. The priestess drags the sharp needle over the spine of the book, and I gasp. Rhys kneels in front of me and grips my arms, eyes staring into mine. His mouth is curled in a resolute frown. 

For what seems like hours, the priestess probes the book and I think about death. Amarantha breaking my neck, Hybern snapping that bond--nothing compares to this pain. It's like someone is undoing my muscles like you would rip out a faulty hem. Just when I think that my body has been split in two, just when my vision is almost dark, the woman stops. I hear the utensil clatter to rest on the table. Her murmuring fades. 

I blink until I can focus on Rhysand. His forehead is drenched in sweat, as is mine. He envelops me in a tight hug, and I can feel his heart beating like a rabbit's. 

_I was so scared._ _The Bond was shuddering. I thought---_

_I'm okay. I'm here. Forever and ever, remember?_ I gently rub his back. 

We stand, but I wobble on my stiff legs. My back howls at me, so Rhysand scoops me up instead. I rest against his hard chest, enjoying the rumble when he says, "Thank you, so much." 

"Anything for the woman who saved Prythian twice, my Lord." The priestess smiles at me shyly. 

I smile back weakly. Rhys kisses my forehead and takes the two halves of the book that she hands him, balancing them in my lap. We winnow back to the House of Winds. 

He sits me down on the couch as Mor and Cassian approach him.

"Take this back to Tarquin, please," he hands one half to Mor. "We can negotiate the blood rubies later." 

"And take this with you to Feyre's old home. Bring Nesta," he hands the other half to Cassian. "I have a feeling you'll need her against these new queens."  

When they've gone, I exhale slowly. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. From the pain. From letting Amren go. From the relief of being done with the Cauldron and the Book and Hybern and wars. 

Rhys sits beside me, holding my hand. For hours we stay there in silence. Just thinking. Mourning. Hoping. 


	30. 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life becomes generally normal. 
> 
> Two months after Amren returns home, Rhysand makes Nesta his emissary to the Human Realm, and she leaves to join Cassian to continue their campaign for the right for Illyrian females to train. Elain bursts in to tell them how Lucien has proposed the acceptance of the mating bond and how he has offered to make Elain the High Lady of the Spring Court. Thrilled, she accepts with Feyre's blessing. Mor comes in angry about her bond with Azriel, which Feyre and Rhys straiten out. 
> 
> All the while, Feyre has a special surprise for her mate.

In the months after the Cauldron is destroyed, the Book is returned to its former resting places, and Amren is given her home back there are many meetings. Rhys and I barely have time to sit down and be together, but when we do it's like the reincarnation of the cabin every time. It's been almost a year since we've been able to truly been alone. Rhysand tells me that after all the rebuilding has started, we'll take a long vacation. 

One afternoon after a long rest in bed, Rhys and I prepare to finally meet with Nesta. She's been very busy since the end of the battle; she has training sessions with Cassian and endless trips to the Illyrian war camps, advocating for the females' rights to training and fighting. Cassian says that she's been instrumental in that process. 

We wait for her in the sitting room in the townhouse. I rub my stomach, thoughts whirling. It's been two months...two months since my last...

Nesta interrupts my thoughts by winnowing into the chair next to mine. I almost jump out of my skin as she snorts. "Boo." 

Rhys laughs. "You've got to admit, she got you." 

"Prick." 

"Don't flirt with me. This is a serious meeting." His violet eyes flick to Nesta, taking in her fighting leathers and twin swords in a heartbeat. "How are the war camps coming?" 

"They're getting there. Some of the new chiefs seem to see the light better than the old crusty ones did." She wrinkles her nose. 

"Are they letting the girls fight?" 

"Most of them. Some of them are still piling too many "chores" on their backs." She rolls her eyes, looking exhausted but somehow content. "Is there another reason you wanted to see me?" 

"Yes. You see I'm looking for a person to fill a certain job position." 

Nesta raises an eyebrow, glancing over at me. I shrug, smiling a little. "We were hoping," I say, "that you would be interested in being our emissary to the mortal world." 

She blinks slowly as if giving her brain time to comprehend the idea. "Your old job?" 

I nod. 

Nesta screws up her lips in thought. "Would I still get to work with the Illyrians...and Cassian?" 

"Of course. Amongst other meetings and responsibilities, those will be your _passion_ activities." Rhys's eyes glimmer faintly, watching my sister's neck blush. 

She considers for another moment, but I can see in her eyes that her mind is made up. "I'll take it." 

Rhys inclines his head in thanks. "You may go back to your work, then." 

Nesta immediately disappears; not a trace of her is left on the couch. 

I twirl the ring on my left hand, the one that Rhys had made me pull out of the Weaver's den. He'd given it to me last night. 

 _It's yours, you know,_ he'd said.  _You are the High Lady of the Night Court. And It suits you perfectly._

 _And matches my crown,_ I had murmured as I had watched the pearl flecks catching the light. 

We hadn't come up for air for another hour, though I had...refused him. 

Now in the sunny sitting room, I stand up and cross the rug, crawling into his lap. _I've gotta tell him._ He raises a quizzical eyebrow but says nothing as I lean my head down on his shoulder. 

"I love you," I say. 

He wraps his arms around me and squeezes once. "I love you too." 

I hesitate. "I have something to--" 

But Elain rushes in, silky skirts rustling on the wooden floor. Her face is flushed and her eyes are bright. "Feyre! He's asked me!" 

Lucien has been here since last week, discussing plans with us and courting my sister in between meetings, much to Nesta's dismay. Elain had mentioned at lunch yesterday that she could feel the bond growing stronger, but she hadn't wanted to rush into it. 

 _I want him to court me properly,_ she'd said, gazing down into a steaming mug of tea. 

Now, watching Elain dance up and down the room, I can't find it in me to be bothered by the quick change of heart. Of course she had. It is only natural.  

"What happened?" I stand and take her hands excitedly. 

She squeezes them, "He asked me to come back to the Spring Court with him. Now that Ianthe and Tamlin have been handled, he says it's too quiet." She's beaming at me. "He even gave me this." She pulls her hand out of my grip and shows me a delicate rose-gold ring set with a square cut diamond. It looks wonderful on her slender finger. 

"A wedding ring?" 

She shakes her head, soft curls bouncing. "No. A promise ring. He asked me to accept the mating bond." 

"And what did you say," this comes from Rhys who has leaned forward. I smirk at him, but he brushes me off with a slight frown. 

Elain chews her lip. "I panicked and winnowed to the stairs and then ran to find you." 

I laugh. "Elain do you want him to be your mate?" 

"Yes." She answers without hesitation, her jaw set and her face beaming. 

"Then go back up there and take that male out to dinner. Offering him food is the way you formally accept it." 

"He says we'll winnow back to the Spring Court immediately after...to...to be _alone_." She blushes hard, but manages to wriggle her eyebrows at me weakly. 

"Good idea," Rhys nods enthusiastically. "I don't want to be around a newly mated High Lord." 

"Oh, they aren't so bad," I drawl. 

A wicked smile flashes across his face.

"And then...and then he says he'll make me his High Lady," she says softly. Her eyes are focused on the trees outside.  

"It suits you perfectly," Rhysand tells her. "Elain Archeron, High Lady of the Spring Court." 

I give my sister a quick kiss on the cheek, drawing back to see tears in her eyes. "I wish you all the happiness in the world. Send me a letter when you can."

She crushes me into a hug. "After this I'm going to have a wedding." 

"You deserve it." 

Elain gives herself a little shake as she pulls back, her smile drooping and then coming back full force. She squeals as she winnows away, back to her mate and my friend. 

Rhys clears his throat and pats his lap, leaning back against the couch cushions. I sit down and put my arms around his neck, giving him a deep kiss. 

"You had something to tell me," he whispers. 

"Yes. Well I've skipped--" 

But then Mor appears looking angry. "He's done it again!" 

I sigh and pull away from Rhys as his cousin struts around the room, waving her hands in the air. Her golden bangles clank together. "Who's done what?" 

"Azriel! He keeps avoiding me!" 

"Do you know why," Rhys asks calmly. Like a tiny pinprick to a swelling balloon.  

Mor bites her lip and sinks into a chair, totally deflated. "Yes. I turned down the bond...again." 

My stomach does a flip even as I frustratedly think, _Everyone and their mother is in a mating bond right now._ "Oh. I would avoid you, too, I think." 

Her eyes search my face and then her cousin's. We stare back at her. The air in the room is heavy with Mor's mixed feelings. A part of me wants to reach out and soothe those with my power, but instead I stay wrapped inside my own head. She doesn't need that.

"I just want to take it slow. I kept avoiding it in the old days because first there was Amarantha and our High Lord was in danger. Then there was Hybern and our High _Lady_ was in danger. But now..."

But now here is this giant commitment staring her in the face. Being locked to one male for the rest of her days is a lot to process, and while she might love him, I understand that she feels trapped. Rhys was smart to wait with me. I would have run just like Mor has been running for more than fifty years. Mor escaped the Court of Nightmares, escaped the sexism and dominating males. I can see where this kind of issue would strike a hard nerve for the Princess of Dreams. 

"But now, you're just being a coward," Rhys says bluntly. I glance at him, surprised. 

I expect Mor to rage against him, but instead she just lowers her head into her hands and sobs. I've never seen Mor cry before, and my throat closes up. It's like watching a sweet tempered dog in a wolf fight. Her quiet sniffles fill the room for a few minutes. Then she stops, wipes the mascara from under her eyes, and looks at us bleakly. 

"What do I do?"

"First of all it's your decision," I say. "None of us can force you into this union, and none of us want to, though most of us can see how happy both of you would be." 

Rhys looks at her tenderly. "Don't worry cousin. Just corner him, and tell him how you feel. Azriel will listen and take it slow." 

"Though I would get the mascara smudges off first," I say, trying to make her smile again. 

Mor breathes a sigh of relief and forces her face to grin. Then she stands and straightens her dress. "I'll see you both later."

I turn to Rhysand as soon as her golden hair disappears from view. "You knew didn't you? That's why you wouldn't tell me how tangled their history was together." 

"Azriel has known about the bond since the night Mor and Cassian slept together. He told her just before the party Under the Mountain. You can imagine what they've been through." 

I nod, chewing my lip. I stand up and pace around in front of the couch. "Rhys I have something to tell you."

I pause and turn back to him. _My mate, my mate._ My Prince of Starlight who waited for me above all obstacles...I shove the sentence into the air, letting it hang in the sunbeams that are falling across the room.  

"I'm pregnant." 

For a solid minute, Rhys just blinks rapidly like he has something in his eye. "Pardon?"

I feel my face breaking into a giant grin, one I haven't worn since perhaps the day I first ventured into the forest to hunt. "I'm pregnant. And it's yours."

Then I realize that he does have something in his eye--tears. They spill down his cheeks as he drops onto his knees in front of me and holds my skirts in his hands. My hands go into his hair as his face presses into my abdomen. 

"Say it again," he whispers. 

"I'm pregnant." 

"Since when?" He tips his head back to look at me, violet eyes glowing and thick lashes wet. 

"Two months ago." 

"That's why---" 

"Yes." 

"Cauldron boil me," he murmurs. "I thought---" 

"You seriously think I would give up  _that_ if there wasn't a good reason." 

"I thought---" 

" _Tamlin_ is not a good reason." 

Then my mate laughs, louder than I've ever heard. Like a little boy. He jumps to his feet and envelops me into gentle a hug. Jasmine and citrus and salt surround me. I burry my head in his shoulder and weep against the soft fabric, the hard muscles. 

Because I'm pregnant with my mate's child.

Because we've made it. Finally. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the story and stuck with me! I hope ACOWAR ends as well as this, but I have a feeling we're in for a lot of pain (and that we'll thank her for it lol). 
> 
> I read somewhere that A Court of Wings and Ruin wouldn't be the end of the ACOTAR series, and if that's true maybe I'll write some fan fiction continuing wherever ACOWAR leaves off. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading. These characters are not mine of course. All of them belong to Sarah J Maas, but I hope you enjoyed my take on them. 
> 
> Xx. Magikenz


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